


The Good Doctor

by Mikanis



Series: The Good Doctor [1]
Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Malcolm Reynolds, BAMF Simon Tam, BAMF Zoe Washburne, Biting, Branding, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Doctorin afoot, Family Secrets, Hair-pulling, Hippocratic Hypocrisy, In two scenes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mal's a goddamned Tease., POV Simon, Plot relevant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, River sings bawdy war songs, Seduction, Slight Darkfic Ahead, Slow Burn, Soft!boi Simon, Sorry Not Sorry, Teasing, Torture: Branding, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, What Was I Thinking?, chosen family, not sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 99,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanis/pseuds/Mikanis
Summary: “I would tell you exactly what my intentions were. Every step. How I expected you to behave. What I wanted from you. So don’t look so worried, dong ma?”----Simon's mantra was one day at a time, balancing his various titles of doctor, fugitive, and brother. Months in the black had cost him a huge portion of his identity, however, and he spent every spare moment stitching River's mind together at the seams, or stitching one crew member or another in a literal sense while they eked out a living. In between breaths, he finds Malcolm Reynolds.An unexpected call from Badger turns into the job of a lifetime, taking Serenity to Marigny moon. There, Simon's forced to redraw his lines again and again, defining the man he wants to be, challenging those closest to him to keep up. And if, in the process, he redeems a couple of broken soldiers, frees a few thousand people from servitude, and carves a home for himself on Serenity and in Mal's heart, well...All the better.





	1. Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping my toe into an old fandom. Am I the only one who rewatches this series every year and a half or so? I can't be.
> 
> \------  
> Timestamp: Ch38 and counting....and counting...
> 
> For those of you just joining this fic, welcome, and hang in there. This was initially a freeform work, so plot doesn't begin until chapter twelve or so, but, as you can see...it kind of exploded. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

 

Simon tinted the windows after clearing the room of everyone but Zoe, who was currently scrubbing at the blood on her gun belt with a tight expression. Mal lay on the table, weakly picking at the buttons on his shirt, but Simon had his gloves on in seconds, knocking his hands out of the way.

“Zoe, can you take my kit and get a line in Wash, please? He’ll need blood.” Simon muttered, trying to ignore the steady _patter_ of it falling from the table to the infirmary floor. He dropped the captain’s shirt onto the growing puddle unceremoniously, pausing to take in fifteen separate incisions scattered over the man’s chest. Some had glittering shreds of black metal in them still, but none were large or deep enough to account for the bleeding. The puncture in the man’s breeches looked promising, however, and Simon prioritized the larger wound, cutting the thick canvas away in steady clips. He was glad Zoe missed his indrawn breath, fingers finding a thick shiv of metal protruding from Mal’s hip. It was immediately more serious that he’d thought.

He was applying local anaesthetics to the wound when the infirmary door opened again and Zoe froze in the doorway, Wash hovering over her shoulder. Simon muttered distractedly, prodding the torn edges of flesh, “No, out there, I’m sorry. Set him up and the scrub in please, I think I need you."

Zoe nodded, herding the pilot onto the couch opposite the door, pulling it just so to keep Wash’s worry at a manageable level. It took her a moment, longer than a trained nurse would have taken, but she was in soon enough, pulling her sleeves up to the elbow. Simon heard water and smelled the alcohol and antiseptic, and then she appeared around the table, snugging her gloves on. “I didn’t realize it was still there.”

“Kinder that you left it in, really, He might have bled out before you got him back on the ship.” Simon answered kindly, but honestly, because he wished like hell he had a real operating theater now, a real prep team and nurses-- _supplies_ \-- “We’re going to remove it, and we need to be ready for the bleeding. There’s styptic powder in the drawer behind you, use more than you think you need. I’ll set up the suture kit for deep tissue. Next to the powder, there’s a small tube, I’ll need that, too.”

“Looks like glue.”

“It is...for veins. Sutures won’t be enough if he’s cut an artery. That will--” Simon paused, frustrated, and raked the captain’s ruined pants down to his knees, sponging a healthy swathe of iodine around the wound. “Sorry, it’s….the vein will need the extra support, to keep his blood pressure up.”

“I’ve never seen a split artery before.”

“If we confirm that, we’ll be working very quickly, so I’ll let you know when to study what I’m doing.” He watched the first mate nod at the sentiment, admiring her steel as always. Simon thought it’d be healthy for another crew member to pick up some practical information on trauma care. Zoe was perfect for it, curious, efficient, and frightening memory for detail. She was wasted in the military. Or maybe not, he amended to himself.

His eyes caught and held on a newly revealed tattoo on the captain’s hip, and Simon blinked hard. Went back to work, testing the metal gently. Blood welled at the edges, bright and clean, it didn’t smell arterial. The shard moved hesitantly, and sinking his fingers along its edge, he encountered the firm pelvic bone beneath it with a grimace. He exhaled once through his nose, studying the pale face and closed eyes, then waved Zoe up to bat with the small jar. “It’s in the bone, but it’s loose. Likely from the walk back. I’m going to take it out, I need you ready.”

She cracked the jar and gave it a quick shake to feel out the contents, then poised over the wound with that same blank expression, only her narrowed eyes giving voice to her concern. Simon shifted a hip onto the table for leverage, spread the tissue as wide as he could with a set clamp, and wrapped his hand around the shard. He took one sharp breath, and _pulled_ . Again. _Again_.

The metal separated at last, flying from his fingers with a slick of blood. Zoe filled the cavity with styptic powder immediately, and Simon packed it to the sides, watching the blood slow at last to something controlled and less life threatening.

“I think...we’re in the clear. No artery for you, I’m afraid.” He confirmed poking around and taking in the quarter inch deep mar on Mal’s pelvic bone. Three inches depth above it, but it looked to be muscle tissue and that he could live with. Simon popped the tube open and tossed the cap into the sink, working excess powder out of way with sterile gauze as he began filling the hole with the tissue sealant. It would hold, sutures to be sure and an extensive bedrest, but he’d live. He realized he’d been muttering all of this under his breath when zoe nodded and stepped back, capping her jar.

“I’ll check on Wash. You want a saline line, too?”

“Yes, please.” Simon nodded, his face inches from the bruising wound, matching edges to the best of his ability with practiced hand. There would be no avoiding this scar, but he’d do what he could. Zoe reached into a cabinet and brought out a modesty panel to cover Mal’s bits before she opened the door. It hadn’t crossed his mind yet.

 

XXXX

 

Simon was asleep on the couch when he woke to heavy bootsteps. His eyes landed on the captain first, still unconscious on the table. Jayne rounded the corner and nodded to him, swinging through the door.

The doctor followed, confused, until Jayne hiked up his shirt awkwardly to reveal his shoulder. “Zoe got it in. Wondered if you’d numb it up long for me to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, you didn’t tell me you needed help.”

“Cap needed it more. She’s a steady hand, didn’t take long.”

“Yeah...it’s good work. She did fine.” Simon pressed his fingers to the bruising around the small puncture and its five neat stitches. It was easily the size of two hands laid flat, dark and black with a spatter of blood blisters over the surface. He’d been a little further away from the grenade, but caught a bigger piece of shrapnel. Simon tsked and pulled his anaes gun out to oblige him. It would hurt like a son of a bitch….had to be, if Jayne was asking for pain relief.

The mercenary didn’t even flinch at the needle, scratching at his beard with his good arm as he watched the captain sleep. “He shouldna’ lived through that. Never seen a man that close to a flash that lived to walk away.”

“Carried away, to be fair, but he’ll walk again eventually. He’s in for some rough waters first.”

“You’ll see him through.” Jayne let his shirt drop and rolled his shoulder, brushing past Simon roughly to the door, “Only ruttin’ thing you’re good for.”

“... _ta mah da_ , be nice…”

Simon turned back to the captain, but Jayne must not have heard, continuing up the stairs to the crew quarters. Mal’s face was waxy and grey, his eyes only narrow slits as he lifted a hand and tried to take stock of his injuries. “Can’ feel my legs. Bad?”

Simon smiled at his slurring, moving around to his side to tug his curious hands away from the fresh stitches.  “Not so bad, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so I raised your sedative dose.”

“M’good. Worried for a sec.”

“You should be. I just cut twenty nine pieces of shrapnel out of you. The largest was the size of my palm.” Mal’s eyebrows raised, equal measures surprised and impressed with himself.

His hand drifted to the largest wound, settling gently over it with a faint snarl. “This...this it?”

Simon nodded.

“Can’t feel it right, but know it’s wrong. Flexes like a knot.”

“You don’t want to flex it, it’s full of thread and glue. Let it rest a day or two first.” Simon adjust his infusion bags and checked the time, making a few notes in his tablet.

The captain sounded thready, barely above a whisper. “Everyone come home?”

“Yes, they’re all here. You’re the worst of it.” Simon finished up and checked his pulse one last time, reassured by the rhythm. “Get some rest, you’ll be down a while. I’ll crash on the couch there.”


	2. Singing

 

In the end, it took three transfusions for Mal to wake up long enough to carry on a conversation. When Simon woke the following morning, Zoe lingered by his patient, adjusting the transfusion bags. He relaxed a little at the sight of the Captain awake and smiling. His color was much better despite a few weeks of pain waiting.

Wash threw a pillow at him playfully, “I don’t much like being on tap, doc. Can I take this out now?”

Simon nodded through his sleep and Wash pushed a mug of fresh coffee across the table. “We’re celebrating. Real coffee.”

“Good, great…” Simon caught his wrist and turned it over, inspecting the bruise surrounding the I.V. tap with an appreciative smile. “She’s getting better. Looks more like a bad nurse than a practiced junkie these days.”

Wash grinned ruefully and held up his other forearm, where a blown vein stood dark and livid against his pale skin. “I don’t know if it’s stickin’ in general or just stickin’ _me_ she has issue with.”

Simon laughed enough that the pair in the infirmary looked up, and he waved to them. He stood to make his way around to the room and paused near the door, looking up the stairs to the mess hall. A sound trickled down through the quiet, out of place on the boat, but soft and sweet. He picked out Kaylee’s voice, and then his heart swelled near to burst when River joined on the next phrase. He hadn’t heard her sing in years. It wasn’t her favorite pastime but it came as naturally to her as everything else. Kaylee was holding her own, and just under it, someone was humming. He thought he recognized the old hymn.

“Inara brought her harp out.” Wash supplied. “They’ve been at it a good hour now, tried to get me and Jayne on board. We ain’t the singing type.”

“Who’s singing on my boat?” Mal called, and Simon shook his head, stepping into the infirmary with a motion for Wash to follow.

“Apparently Kaylee and my sister. Think you could stand some food?”

“Got a cow handy?”

“No, sir, but I could be persuaded to cut your protein bar into the shape of one.” Wash chirped, holding his arm steady while Simon pulled the tape and then the needle out. He bandaged it and the pilot flexed a time or two before he caught his wife’s smile fading and shoved both hands in his pockets. “We got coffee though. Jayne was a right beast until Shepherd brought it out. You might consider adding it to staples, you’d never believe how he holds it. Like a kid with hot chocolate.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that, sir, if we can afford it.” Zoe weighed in,

“Well, get me to the mess. I’m missing all the fun.”

Simon kept him a moment longer to remove the lines from his arms and prod curiously at his handiwork. It looked as though it would hold, but the site was swollen. He changed the bandage and tucked himself under Mal’s arm with a hand on the controls. He and Zoe eased the Captain to a sitting position and worked together to get a pair of soft pants on him. They were old, a tattered but velvety piece with gentle elastic that Simon made sure sat higher than the wound.

The captain swung round of his own accord, and the three of them made their way up the stairs.

“Wash, Zoe’s touching my butt…”

“I’ll let it slide Cap’n.”

XXXX

Kaylee all but squealed when they limped around the corner, River just clapping her delight as Inara continued to play. The mechanic’s smile faded as she got closer and took stock of the damage she could see, her mouth twisting up. Zoe waved her off, “Get the man a coffee, now, we’re gonna set him up at the table a spell.”

Jayne kicked the captain’s usual chair out as they got closer, but made no other move to help. River continued to hum, curling up against Inara’s side and watching her fingers on the delicate strings. Simon thought she looked comfortable and accepted a second mug of his own graciously. Kaylee looked torn between the table and the alcove.

“What's all this singing on my boat?” Mal quizzed her, lifting his mug with a tremor. Simon watched from the corner of his eye as he set it down firmly, as though feeling out its dimensions, and then lifted it again, much more stable on the second attempt. “ _Wò de ma_. Yes. That’s on the staples list.”

“We were just….you know, unwindin’, I guess. River’s got a voice like bubbles.”

“Yes, she does.” Simon added with warmth in his voice, watching River preen from her seat with a blushing smile. “Don’t worry about us, I think the captain could use some prettiness right now. Both of you.”

“Reckon’ he’s right. Need a day of good things.”

Kaylee returned to the nook, taking up her seat beside River and he was surprised to watch his little sister throw her legs over the mechanic's. Good days for her were so rare, he felt her comfort like a balm on the knot in his chest. Simon turned to Jayne as he sipped his coffee, “And you, is that bruising clearing up any?”

“Oh, I’m all kindsa pretty colors.” Jayne muttered, hugging his mug closer. “But it ain’t so bad.”

“Might actually get to remove your stitches myself this time. Not sure you could reach without some contortion and a mirror.”

Jayne just grunted, leaning forward in his chair instead of his usual backwards sprawl. “What’s that tattoo about, Mal?”

“What in hell…” Mal rubbed a hand over his face, “Is there anyone on the boat ain't seen me naked at this point?”

Inara and River triumphantly raised their hands.

“What is it?” Simon pressed gently. “It looked...intentional.”

“S’my dogtag, doctor.” Mal brushed over the subject easily enough.

“That mean Zoe got one too?”

Zoe shook her head,  “No, Jayne, I intended to live through the war.”

Simon frowned at the implication that Mal somehow didn’t. Before he could ask anymore, Mal waved, “Where’s my singing, ladies?”

River cut a sly look and leaned into Inara’s ear for a moment, until she paused her charming gait on the harp and gave a few testing plucks. River nodded approvingly and then leaned into Kaylee’s ear too. The answering grin was absolutely salacious.

Wash was just returning to the table when the tempo picked up in earnest as Inara found her fingers, and River’s affected accent rung out through the mess--

 

“Good morning Sgt Ma-jor, god bless your heart & soul

I tried to fuck your daug-hter, but I couldn't find her hole.”

 

Simon choked on his coffee, eyebrows shot so high they hit the ceiling and then Kaylee was laughing and joining in harmony.

 

“At last I found her hole, it was underneath her frock

but god bless me sgt ma-jor, I couldn’ find me cock

At last I found me cock, it was limp an' awful thin

but god bless me sgt ma-jor I couldn't get it in

At last I got it in and wiggled it about

but god bless me sgt ma-jor, I couldn't get it out

When I finally got it out

it was awful red and sore

but bless me sgt ma-jooooor

Your daughter wanted more!”

 

The ladies dissolved into tearful laughter at the stricken expressions, Inara dabbing lightly at her eyeliner. Wash rounded on Zoe right as Mal collapsed into pained wheezes of laughter. “Did you teach them that?”

“Might’ve.”

  
“Gonna rip a gorram stitch, _mei-mei_.”


	3. Sting

“So, when exactly are you going to tell Kaylee that yer sly, doc?”

Dead silence fell over the table, Simon frozen in the act of attempting to steal one of the strawberries on the mechanic’s plate. Her jaw dropped, eyes flashing between the two of them before settling on Jayne.

He knew this was the wrong reaction, this silence. It was too telling. He put his fork back on his plate and licked the edge of his teeth, not quite a snarl but the mercenary laughed anyway. He hated Jayne in moments like this. Absolutely abhorred him and had a thousand words at his disposal to tell him so, but half would be lost in that three inch thick skull that-- “M’just askin’ the good doctor a question. Can’t answer a question?”

He was speaking, he realized, to Kaylee, and when Simon glanced over, the wound had become narrowed eyes and thin lips, something utterly out of place on her sunny features. He swallowed hard, and her fingers fell on his sleeve, which hurt him in places he couldn’t quite pin. “I’m...not. Specifically.”

Simon was hedging and he knew it, but Kaylee’s expression softened as he spoke, turning her chin slightly towards him to show she was listening. And didn’t he have fuck all to say, he thought privately, shouldering on. “I have dated women in the past. One for two years, before River…”

“It’s alright.” Kaylee patted his arm. He hated that too, that she was too kind to even be mad at him.

“I do have a preference, however, and uh...I’d wanted--”

“Don’t sound like it.” Jayne leaned back with a wide grin, and it really occurred to Simon to stab him with the nearest implement, meeting his eyes coolly. “Sounds like you’d fuck anything.”

“No.”

“What’s off the list, doc?”

River chimed in from her seat in the alcove, “Incompetence...brutality…”

Jayne cut her a look and Simon half rose from his chair to make good on his idle wishes when Kaylee broke the moment with a soft question of her own, “You think I’m stupid, Jayne?”

“Not...no, I just--”

“You just what? _Biǎo zi yǎng de_ , he’s been tryin’ to tell me himself near a month now. You think I don’t know?” She spat across the table, in a tone he’d have never imagined Kaylee conjuring. Even Mal looked taken aback, and she muscled on, leaning forward. “You’re a right _Húndàn_ , Jayne, embarrassin’ him like that. After all he’s done for you. For all of us.”

She pulled Simon back down into his seat and stood herself. “I ain’t stupid. I was trying to let him find words other than ‘you ain’t good enough’. Cuz he always falls back on that, and he don’t mean it. I know I’m good enough. I just ain’t nobody’s second choice.”

She picked up her plate and Simon just stared at the back of her head, the soft fall of her hair over her tense shoulders, and jumped when she all but threw her plate into the mess sink. She left without another word, her boots echoing down the hall to the engine room until they were swallowed up by the hum of the ship’s heart.

Zoe and Wash made a quiet exit, and River soon after, muttering something about a storm of tears. Jayne resolutely went back to his meal for a long moment. Simon just braced his forehead in his hands and stared at the table. He had been trying to tell her. And worse, she was right, he always defaulted to some well-intended line about circumstances, or her work, or...fucking anything, trying to tell her she wasn’t what he needed, not that she wasn’t enough. He was thankful at least that she heard the truth of it, no matter how badly he chewed the sentiment. He’d give her some space and apologize.

“....weren’t my intent.” Jayne mumbled lowly around his protein. “She reminds me of Bethie.”

His youngest sister, Simon conjured out of nowhere. Mal sat back slowly and sighed through his nose, looking between the two of them. “Way I see it, you both owe her an apology. Jayne, you’re gonna go first, seen as how you really are an ass of epic proportions, and yes, you did intend to do this.”

Jayne grunted, but didn’t deny it again, pushing his plate away as he stood. Mal stopped him at the door. “If you want this to go right, I reckon you should tell her exactly what you just told us. Don’t talk about the doctor, or your glittering opinion of him. Tell her about Beth. That’ll make a lot more sense.”

The mercenary stalked out and after a few moments of silence, it was apparent that Kaylee wasn’t throwing things. Mal rose from the table and leaned on it, steadying himself before he straightened entirely. “Want to see to these stitches?

“Yes.” Simon breathed, collecting their plates as he did so. He was rather sure it was his turn at the sink, he’d come back later to finish up. He polished off his tea as the captain headed for the stairs.

XXXX

He heard the noise before he saw it, something that sounded suspiciously like the steel bedpan bouncing off the doorframe, and Mal hunched just below its trajectory, cursing under his breath. Simon rounded the stair and immediately put himself between his sister and the captain, heart in his ears. She was hovering in the corner crying, and the sight of this broke his heart, it really did. Only a week or two ago, he remembered her singing, her smug smile as she lay between Inara and Kaylee in easy companionship. This girl’s eyes were wide and unfocused, sadness etched into every line.

Rage quickly followed his breaking, and he choked on it, trying to shield it from her because it wasn’t for her. It was for the men that knowingly did this to such a beautiful person. Instead, he clung to the good memory, trying it keep it square in his mind in case...well, in case she was looking. Sometimes she couldn’t help it.

This time she fought him. Unseeing, angry, spouting nonsense about the storm, there was no eye in this storm, how it wasn’t hers, she didn’t want it. She looked at Mal like he was a stranger when he trapped her arms up in a bear hug so Simon could sedate her safely, held her with a hard look in his eye as he watched Simon’s hands shake. A fresh bruise was turning on his cheek, her dainty little elbow reduced to a savage point as she struggled.

He half carried her to the guest quarters, eyes lighting on a new sketch hanging over her bed. Inara’s harp, in exquisite detail.

Fuck, it caught his breath, it hurt. All of it hurt. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing else in the world these days but pain of the variety that he couldn’t fix. He tucked her in gently, pressed a kiss to her forehead and apologized for the bruise he knew he’d left on her arm. None of this was...them. None of it. Everywhere he stepped there was only guilt waiting like cool, dark water.

Mal was leaning on the infirmary table when he got back. He didn’t speak, and Simon couldn’t bring himself to apologize again. He just set about righting the room, picking up things she’d thrown or kicked out of position.Simon hated to admit it, but the infirmary was a direct mirror of his mental state, and sometimes he didn’t have the heart to settle in. His own room was tidy, River’s enough of a mess for both them. Sheer force of habit took him through the motions and just once, for one gorram second, he wished he belonged here. That he was allowed to take up space, to be. That anything in this ship was allowed to reflect him, to be messy...other than his sister, whom he was desperately trying to heal. She didn’t need to reflect him anymore.

The captain still had a hard set to his chin when Simon scrubbed up, noting the tremor in his fingers and very glad that they were not needed to put any sutures in place today. Above them, two pairs of boots made their way through mess, but the step was slow and the voices quiet, so apparently Jayne hadn’t done too bad a job explaining himself. Simon knew he was looking after her, in his own way. He didn’t blame him. He envied him, if anything. He remembered when the biggest worry he had was River falling victim to her emotions with someone who didn’t respect her.

He gestured to the table and donned his gloves. It was finally quiet on Serenity, quiet everywhere but his head. Mal pulled himself up and swung round, opening his belt with a gentle sigh. “Why don’t you take a pill yourself tonight, good doctor. Get some decent sleep.”

“I can’t.” Simon shook his head, stepping forward to administer a numbing agent on either side of the wound. “I’m allergic to one sedative and sensitive to the other. Three hours for you would be be three days for me, and River….I can’t take three days off. You’d all die.”

Might even be River that killed them, he didn’t say out loud. Mal chuckled at that, lacing his fingers on his chest as Simon snipped the knots open. “Just a thought. You need a break.”

“I don’t know what I need." Simon answered truthfully, willing his hands to be steady as he took the first string in his forceps and gave a gentle tug. “This is going to burn a little.”

“PTSD.” Mal hissed, through gritted teeth. He didn’t flinch to his credit. “Hell of a thing.”

“She’s doing her best, I have to--”

“I meant you, doc.”

Simon brought his own eyes up, blinking hard. He decided not to answer.

“Mei-Mei ain’t exactly a full deck right now, but you are, and that’s worse in my experience.”

Simon just nodded, placing his fingers around the next entry point and tugging the black thread up in a smooth pull. Mal shook his head, clearing his throat as blood welled in its absence and the doctor wiped it away with an antiseptic pad. He moved on the next when the captain gave him permission. “I’m just...trying to keep level.”

“Is there something you need?” Mal braced himself for the pull this time, and Simon knew what it felt like, when a deep tissue suture came loose. It was the oddest thing--”Something we can put hands on easy?”

“No, I don’t think so. Though--” Simon _tsked_ , concentrating on his work. “This is very grounding. Honestly, if your crew didn’t keep me so busy, I’d have lost my mind a long time ago.”

“Grounding to me looks like a fist fight.” Mal admittedly chuckling. “Remember a month or so back, got that shiner in the bar?”

“On Unification Day?”

“Mhm.”, the captain nodded, brushing a hand over his face. “I don’t talk on it much, but I got a well of rage in my chest. Didn’t end when the war did. Hell, probably older than the war.”

“I’ll give anything a shot, at this point.”

“... _Shénme_?”

“I said,” Simon repeated, when the fifth and final deep suture cleared the scar. “That I’m seriously tempted to give that a shot.”

Mal looked at his profile with a new curiosity. Simon ignored it, moving on to the smaller brace stitches on the outer edge of the wound. The scar had healed as neatly as he could make it, Mal was lucky the bone hadn’t broken. He pulled the first of seven out, mulling over the idea in his head.

“...I’m not in the habit of hitting folk that don’t deserve it.” Mal offered.

“If I let Jayne start, he might not stop.” Simon countered easily, “I trust you not to break any bones.”

“Whoa, now…” Mal sat up on his elbows, frowning. “This just went from hypothetical to...not. I don’t know about that.”

“I’m just saying, it’s an option. And yes, in my personal and professional opinion, I think it might help.” Simon paused long enough to give the captain a level look. “I am gnawing on my own rage, Captain. I don’t have the luxury of bar fights.”

Mal deadpanned, an amused quirk on his face. “Fight?”

“ _Wo de ma_.” Simon rolled his eyes and tugged the next out with a little more force than maybe absolutely necessary. “I’m not talking about a fight. I just want you to hit me.”

“That’s...apparent.”

And that...wasn’t a no. Simon marveled at how steady his hands were now, of course, at the very end of the procedure. He tidied up, brushing an antiseptic cream over the marks and applying the gauze to help with the weeping. Another week, maybe, and Mal could go without.

“You want to help, Mal, that’s what I’m asking.” Simon stepped back and stripped his gloves off into the waste chute, tapping the paddle to vaccuum them into the ship’s septic hold. As an afterthought he tinted the windows, turning to watch the captain lace up, eyes lingering on the tattoo as it disappeared beneath the wool.

Mal considered him a for a long, hard moment. Simon was almost convinced that the ‘no’ was coming next, but instead, the older man cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wandered closer and pulled the infirmary door shut, searching Simon’s face. “How do you see this playing?”

“I don’t know. Pretend I called you a _Biǎo zi yǎng de_ and disobeyed a direct order.” Simon crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “That seemed to work last time.”

“You deserved it last time.” Mal iterated, one more step placing him within reach, and Simon was amazed at how calm he was, they both were, about this conversation. “Last time you weren’t on my crew.”

“...I am now. And I mean that, I want to make a home here. But I’ve got---” The doctor shrugged, holding out his hands to show the tremor in them. “A moon’s worth of trouble on my shoulders and my mode of operation is to heal, not hurt. I can’t ask you and the crew to keep getting shot just so I’ll feel better about being here.”

“Alright.” Mal nodded. “But I don’t want to make a habit of this.”

“If it works, I might resort to pissing you off just to--” Simon stopped, laughing bitterly at the ceiling. “...No, I won’t. But I know what I’m asking. If it’s hard for you, I’ll figure something else out.”

“Don’t think the Shepherd would oblige.”

Simon did laugh at that, fixing Mal with an easy grin. “It’ll help me sleep. We’ll figure out the rest later. But you’re right, I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t find...something.”

“Alright...to help you sleep.”

Mother of God and the Sun and everything he ever held holy, Mal was _fast_.

The _crack_ of it rang through the small room and left him breathless, the left side of his face blossoming in white-hot pain for thirty, forty seconds, a minute, and Simon refused to touch it. He just closed his eyes and breathed through his nose and concentrated on remembering this pain. Not the deeper one that scared him out his nightmares, lingered in every passing look from River, stained every small moment of comfort he’d found in years _...this_ pain. This real, living pain, highlighted by the beat of his heart.

He cleared his throat and straightened back up, a tremor on his exhale that he ignored through sheer force of will. Mal gripped his chin and turned his face slightly to look at it, and the intensity in his eyes made Simon’s breath catch. He brushed his thumb over the mark, conflict obvious in his eyes and another expression there that the doctor couldn’t quite place. Didn’t care to, if he was honest. The pain faded slowly, and he blinked, wishing it would last a moment longer, but a dull ache crept into its place and he tried to smile for the captain, the corner of his lip quirking up.

Mal finally dropped his hand. “If you bruise, we’ll have to find something else. If not...we can do this.”

He was out the door before that really registered.


	4. Domestic

 

Simon didn’t even make it to his room. He wandered numbly up the stairs after the captain, heard his bunk close from the kitchen as he paused and remembered it was his turn. Touching his cheek, he winced, but persisted, until he could press his entire hand over the mark and bask in the heat of it. The chatter in the back of his head was miraculously silent. He was sure he’d forgotten something in the wake of it, but refused to thumb through his memory until he found the tidbit train of thought he’d managed to shake.

In fact, he was quite determined not to think at all, running a sink of hot water and brushing a hand towel over the plates. He slid them through the drying rack one at a time and gingerly tucked them into their storage crevice under the cabinet. More than once, he caught himself tilting his head to apply pressure to the mark with the shoulder. It stung, but the distraction was welcome.

He’d fallen asleep nursing a cup of tea at the table. River found him there the next morning in the early hours.

“I didn’t do that.” She said, eyes on his cheek. She’d taken the seat opposite of him and let him wake on his own, picking his head up with a groan. Simon worked his jaw, then rested his chin on his arms, mirroring her. She smiled.

“No...you didn’t do this, _mei-mei_.”

“Doctors can’t write their own prescriptions. It’s illegal.”

“You won’t tell on me.” He grinned, touching it faintly. “It’s bruised?”

“...Not to the eye.” River admitted, blinking gently and looking away again.

She was usually welcome in his head. Simon wasn’t sure he could keep her out if he’d wanted to, but he thought about resisting this time. River glanced up as though caught and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I meant to thank you. I saw your little boat. And then the lifeline in the water. It helped. It was nice that we both got some sleep.”

He knew she didn’t mean to, he didn’t press. He thought on the metaphor for a minute, asking gently. “The lifeline was for me. No secrets, I promise. Just privacy.”

“It looks... intentional.” She repeated his phrasing and Simon grinned again.

“It was.”

“It _is_.” She added, with a smirk.  Then she spun out of her chair and rounded the kitchen island. “I’m making oatmeal.”

XXXX

“And basically, in another life, you would have been perfect. I mean that.” Simon rolled his head in the multicolored hammock in time to watch a wide smile break on Kaylee’s face. She looked up from her work with a fresh smear of grease on one cheek, and Simon indicated his own to clue her in. The smear only grew.

“Well, see, that’s real sweet an’ all. That’s all I wanted really.” She flipped the wrench over and shimmied back under the engine prop. “Tell me I’m pretty again.”

“Kaylee, you’re gorgeous.” Simon said quietly, kicking his foot so he could sway gently. “I just have about three brain cells left and they’re all dedicated to keeping River alive. Flirting is fun. No, wait, let me...flirting with you is the closest thing I’ve felt to normal in years.”

Kaylee gave him a sad look at that, concerned, but she nodded. “I get it. Sometimes acting normal is the trick. I’m not mad about it, I promise. I knew you’d tell me to get wise eventually.”

“‘Get wise’ sounds harsh.”

“I see what I want to see sometimes. No harm in it.” She reached for her toolbox and Simon nudged it into reach his with toe. “At least you didn’t screw me first,  _nǐ zhīdào ma_?”

Simon flushed, taken aback by her frankness, but that was eerily similar to his own thoughts on the matter. He was happy she was taking it so well though. “You remind me that I’m young.”

She cocked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t look at him.

“I know that’s a strange thing to say, but when I’m around you, I’m not anything else...not a big brother, not a fugitive, not a doctor...not even a graduate. I’m just...a 28 year old man lost in space on some grand adventure. It’s nice to put the rest of it down sometimes. Does that make sense outside of my head?”

“Yep.” Kaylee scooted out and bounced to her feet. “However, I gotta kick you out for a minute while I test this, Adventure Man.”

He frowned. “Really?”

“Yes. Because if we both explode, there’ll be no one to save us.”

“...There’s an alternative, right?”

“Radiation poisoning!

Simon rolled his eyes and made his way out of the room, the door sliding closed behind him with a gentle click. At least he knew she was serious, Kaylee only closed that door if it were absolutely necessary. He headed downstairs with half a mind to take an inventory and paused when Jayne caught him on the landing.

There was a tense moment, but Simon didn’t have the patience to fight. Jayne crossed his arms, blocking the path. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yes, we’re good.”

“...Good.” Jayne echoed, turning into the holding bay without another word. Simon wondered briefly if there might actually be a human being under that layer of weaponry and bravado, but he wasn’t particularly interested in meeting him if that were true.

He lingered half a second before taking the last three steps and turning into the holding bay, jumped half a foot when he nearly ran into Mal’s back.

The captain was cocked up on the railing, watching Jayne descend to the work floor below. The gunman was pulling on his gloves as he prepared to rearrange the cargo. Mal glanced at Simon and grinned lightly. “Morning.”

“Mhm.” Simon came to stand beside him, vaguely confused. “I thought we had all that arranged?”

“Yeah, well, if Kaylee got her way, he’s clearing the floor for hoopball.” Mal answered quietly, and the doctor thought he heard a wistful tone at the edges, there. There was a flash of teeth, Mal cutting his eyes sideways at the the smaller man. “How’d you sleep?”

“Ah…”, God, a grown man should not blush this easily. He felt the heat creeping under his tie, but resolutely ignored it, training his eyes on Jayne instead. “Good. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Mal pushed, pointedly inspecting his cheek. “Not as purple as I was expectin’.”

“I don’t bruise easily.” Simon muttered distractedly, watching Jayne haul the crates containing his medical supplies to the side. He hadn’t broken a sweat yet. “Lucky me.”

“Just makes ‘em special.”

He _heard_ the amusement in the man’s voice and turned to narrow his eyes at the captain...it was Mal’s turn to watch Jayne instead of this unfolding conversation. “...That’s an interesting choice of words, captain.”

“Intentional.”

Again, that word. His brain shorted out, wrapped itself around the bulk of this conversation and stowed it away for later study. “Speaking of intentional….Your dogtag has a few extra lines.”

“Oh, you noticed?” Mal replied lightly, arms still crossed.

“' _The man hath penance done, And penance more will do._ ” Simon recited, propping a heel on the railing as he watched the captain’s face fall into something neutral. “It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Ancient Mariner.” The answer came gruffly, and Simon pondered that, watching the cargo hold open up bit by bit. Jayne’s face was red with the exertion. “We all have a penance, doctor.”

“I don’t believe I’m done earning mine.”

“That an invitation?” Just like that, the smirk was back and whatever depth the conversation had steered toward, it took a hard left.

Simon’s jaw did not quite drop, but the mark covering his face echoed his heart as it picked up at the suggestion, “ _Bì zuǐ_ , Captain.”

“You’re too easy, I swear.”

Simon lifted his chin and made an obscene gesture as he turned out, muttering, “Without foreplay, it’s just domestic violence.”

  
He swore he could _hear_ the Captain’s stare as he left him on the catwalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bì zuǐ = Shut up, according to Google.
> 
> Previous insults and phrases include: Whoreson, Asshole, Mother of God, Little Sister, and 'What?'
> 
> Like you didn't hear him, Mal. 
> 
> Any bets on when Inara catches wind? Anyone? I'll start a pool. 
> 
> Also, my beta works graveyard shift in Alaska, roughly the other side of the world, so if you catch it before either of us does, feel free to let me know. My mind doesn't edit until I've hit the submit button.


	5. Seeing Red

He was yelling. He knew he was yelling before it ever actually came out of his mouth, a fire burning up through his lungs and spilling over his tongue before he had the presence of mind to close his teeth on it. Simon didn’t even know what he was saying, whether it was rooted in fact, it just rolled from a place beneath his heart and swept through him hotly on the tails of fear.

He hadn’t slept in days. Felt its absence like a raw stripe of skin running from his brain to his toes, a towel wrung out too hard and left to dry in a heap. There was no preventing this. All of his solutions only served to make it worse. Caffeine equated to a harder crash and not enough reprieve to keep him moving. Sedation turned his body, and worse, his mind, to dead weight, and River needed him. She needed him awake and thinking to anchor her in the reality that they were living, not the broken pieces force fed her by anonymous sadists. God, he was tired.

He felt it even as he struggled to sort out his own reality. Arms were a full second behind the command to lift, to swing. He saw Jayne’s mouth moving before he heard him cuss. Heavy hands on his arms, chanting wake up, wake up, wake up, goddamn it doctor, wake up. River whimpered somewhere near his head, and he felt her gentle fingers in his hair, and then whatever scrap of patience Jayne had disappeared and he was hefted bodily over the mercenary’s shoulder and carried from his room to the infirmary.

Zoe caught River up by the elbow and held her close, letting her sob into the soft robe she wore over a pair of Wash’s pajamas pants. Late then, very late. And sudden, if Zoe wasn’t dressed. River was still in the clothes he’d put her to bed in. So not too long. Jayne was still dressed, likely still awake when the screaming started. He hit the table still fighting, fighting in earnest from the moment River disappeared from his sight, but there she was, in Kaylee’s arms now.

Hot tears on his cheeks, on River’s too, but he trusted Kaylee not to hurt her. Kaylee would never. And Zoe would never hurt him. Jayne, on the other hand….

He saw very clearly the moment Jayne snapped.

He got two solid strikes in before Zoe all but leapt across the table and fishhooked his open mouth. She led him around the table and Simon’s eye was already swelling when Mal arrived like a roll of thunder and got an elbow around the man’s throat. He heard them exit, Jayne’s heels clattering on the steps without a stitch of grace as the captain walked them backwards and then threw him into the cargo bay. The door slammed, locked, and then so did the infirmary.

The last thing Simon heard was River apologizing, the last thing he saw was the look on Mal’s face.

 

XXXX

“I don’t know, I don’t ruttin’ _know_ , Mal.”

“Lucky you didn’t break his _gorram_ jaw.”

“Lucky you didn’t break mine.”

Simon felt something cool and soft pressed to his face, something warm pulsing underneath it. He took stock quietly, sorting out the pain. His eyebrow was split, his left eye hazy and red. It hurt to open it, so he didn’t. He tilted his chin towards the captain’s voice, and soft, but firm hands held him still, Zoe leaning down to talk into his ear. “Doctor, I’m working on your scalp now, y’hear? You be still for me.”

Ah, that would account for the cloudy head. He knew Jayne packed a hit, but this droning ache spoke to something borderline concussion. He sighed shakily, opening his eyes to see Jayne perched on the counter and Mal between them with his arms crossed. He looked severe.

Jayne had a cotton ball in his cheek, evidence of Zoe’s nails and her complete lack of compunction when it came to handling large men. His right hand held a ice gel pack to his knuckles, both shaking slightly. Mal moved to his side and leaned over Simon to watch Zoe work for a second.

“How the hell you go an’ get yourself concussed in your own _gorram_ bunk, Simon?”

“Top three percent.” Simon tried to laugh and winced. He pointed in the direction of his face. “Did I deserve this?”

There was a tense moment of silence, Mal looking back at Jayne. The mercenary cleared his throat, starting lowly. “I...had myself a moment, doc. The last time I heard a man screaming like that, he had a Reaver’s face buried in his entrails.”

“....I’m sorry.” Simon managed, at a loss.

“Weren’t your fault, it caught me unawares. I banged your face up a little more than I thought, Mal here thought I’d done all of it.” Jayne grinned wryly. “I mean, I’d beat you to death, sure, but not over a ruttin’ nightmare.”

“Where’s River?” Simon thought, then the gravity of what Jayne’s story meant hit him and he sat up sharply. “Where’s _River--_ ”

The room swam and Zoe pulled him back down with a fistful of hair, cursing. A light hand, she was not. Practical, always.

“She’s curled up in Inara’s shuttle with Kaylee, getting her hair brushed and eating the last of our chocolate.” Mal supplied, placing a hand on his chest to hold him down and make sure he understood he was not to move again. “She calmed down immediately after you blacked out, haven’t heard a peep out of her since.”

“Mal, I don’t...know what happened.” He began quietly. He’d only had one or two instances of this since finding River. She was a reader, to what extent he didn’t know for sure, even as that clashed with all medical knowledge he’d gained in the academy, he knew it to be true. And she was sensitive. If Jayne’s flashback had reached her--, that didn’t bear thinking about.  

“River said it was her fault, I don’t buy it. You were all down and asleep when I turned in for the night. Jayne said he heard you screaming and found you in the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“How long was I out?”

“‘Round eight hours.” Zoe muttered, pulling the needle through.

“...you’re just now stitching this?”

She gave him a flat look. “Of course not. You had a second round about an hour ago and ripped a few out, s’all. If this hair weren’t so pretty, I’d shave it.”

“You’re supposed to...but...I’m glad you didn’t.” Simon said with a pained grin. “Jayne, what’d you do my face?”

“I just hit you with a closed fist.” He muttered.

“...The fact that that’s a distinction to you speaks volumes. Feels like volumes, anyway.” Simon blinked hard, hand falling on Mal’s sleeve despite missing on the first try. “Bring River in here, please. I need to see her.”

“She don’t need to see you, yet. I’m glad you’re back with us, but this...ain’t a good look on you, doc. When she wakes up and you stop bleeding, I’ll get her down here. Zoe knows her meds, and Kaylee has a way with her. Take a few hours off, Simon.”

 

XXXX

Four hours later, he was curled up in his bunk holding an ice pack to his head, when River stepped gently through his door. Shepherd Book was behind her with a mug of hot tea, and he smiled when he saw the bits of dried strawberry in the bottom of the cup. Kaylee’s special medicine, she called it...she kept four or five from every batch she found and dried them in the engine core. Powdered them for tea when one of the crew was feeling poorly.

Book helped him sit up on his fluffed pillow long enough to drink, but before he could arrange to sit , River curled stubbornly into his shoulder, hand on his chest. “Hey _mei-mei_ …”

“I’m so sorry. I was pushing, pushing it all out like sand from a crab den, it all landed on you. I didn’t mean to.”

If that nightmare was a tenth of what she dealt with on a regular basis, Simon could die of sadness. He bundled her up and held her closely, tears welling in his eyes. It had been hers. Her nightmare, not his. Pushed out into the ‘Verse with a prayer and it ran the shortest distance it could, to Simon, the one closest to her. He remembered this happening a time or two before, when they were children. He’d never minded. Monsters in the closet, under the bed, getting lost in public places...all of it simple, familiar, even. This, however...this had been truly monstrous. “I don’t know what that was _Mei-mei_ , but I’m glad I took it from you.”

He felt her crying and stroked her hair, watching Book watch this conversation with a patient expression. He could only imagine what the man thought. The preacher smiled gently at him though. Maybe he assumed Simon was just humoring her nonsense. “What...about Jayne, River? He had a bad one too, did you see it?”

“No, I got stuck pushing. Push, push, push, digging with my claws, make a nest in my own head. No room for outside. It worked for a minute. But you caught the screams.”

“It’s alright. We’ll talk about it later. When I can think straight.”

She touched his bandage and sighed. “Bright red cloud in the way.”

“I’ll take something for it.”

“No, I meant Mal.”

  
  



	6. Detox

Simon was staring his at tablet in exasperation. He couldn’t focus. He’d been in the infirmary for four hours already, trying to take an accurate inventory pending their next stop on Persephone. Mal had offered to restock him on the essentials, but he couldn’t make it to the end of a line without having to reread it. The third time he caught himself repeating a paragraph, he gave up, tossing the glass onto the counter and pressed both palms to his eyes.

A knock on the door, and a soft, “Oh.”

Simon’s tired blue eyes met Mal’s and he didn’t even try to excuse the mess. Every cabinet was empty on the countertops, his tools laid out on the table, the drawers stood open. With the exception of about a foot of space around Simon’s ankles and ass, there was no where for a person to exist in the room. Mal gingerly stepped over a crate of foodstuffs and antibiotics that had become mixed in one of Jayne’s consolidation flurries. The captain looked as though he wanted to say something snide, got a false start in, paused, peering around.

“Huh.”

“...Eloquent as ever.” Simon chuckled, dragging the tablet back over resolutely. “I’m not even close yet, I’m sorry.”

“Looks like you could use a hand.” He smirked. 

“Zoe was here, but--”

“I called her to set the shuttle up, I know.” Mal hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, looking him over. “How’s your head?”

“Sore, but closed, finally.” Simon touched the faint strip of missing hair self consciously. “Ah...you wouldn’t mind...maybe…”

“Helping?”

Simon nodded, staring  at some midpoint of the room instead of looking at the captain. It was an absolute coin toss but Mal was a working man, and he seemed in a good enough mood. “I could use another pair of hands. River is reading right now, but she’s almost done with her novel and I need to wrap this up before I start dinner.”

‘Well, if it’s between me and a meal, I could be obliged.” Mal stepped over a second crate, scooping the tablet up and scrolling through the list for a moment. He smiled. “This has gotten longer since I brought you on. I oughta tithe your pay towards supplies.”

“It’s...River needs--”

  
Mal waved to cut him off, “Easy, I was joking. How far along are you?”

“Well...along is a generous term.” Simon admitted, scrolling back to the barbiturates, “I’d usually do it by family of medicine, but between Zoe and Jayne, things get moved. And River, of course, playing fifty-two pick-up with my tools when the mood strikes her.”

Mal nodded, smiling. “Alright. I can do this, but I have conditions.”

“Hm?”

“Your job, so you’re doing the walking. Place needs a once over anyway, might as well put it where it goes as we lay hands on it. Next...I ain’t familiar enough to know how this is broken down, so I’m just going to start at the top and muscle through. I call it, you count it, stock it, we move on. Deal?”

“You’re the boss.“ Simon sighed, nodding. After a second he paused, “Wait, can I add one? When we’re done, can we make this an escorted area only?”

“...Zoe might take offense to that.”

“It’s not her specifically, it’s just...really aggravating to reach for things and they not be there.”

“...That’s fair enough. We don’t play in Kaylee’s room, I don’t see why we should play in yours.”  Mal nodded sharply, hip checking Simon off his clear spot against the counter and hopped up on it. “Oh, last one...You can’t laugh when I mispronounce this _shítáng_.”

Simon adjusted his sleeves and waited. The captain scrolled for a minute then pulled the stylus from the top of the tablet and settled in. He called for an antibiotic, and Simon answered in full bottles, then weighed the partial. Mal made his notes. The next was a cream. Then a kind of tape. They fell into an easy rhythm for a while, and Simon found himself only correcting the older man occasionally as he felt his way through the names.

He was pleased, watching Mal learn what certain modifiers and prefixes meant. He didn’t have to tell him anything twice. Mal was efficient, too, almost brusque as he worked down the list, frowning when they had to scroll up to add to a number that had already addressed. A third of the way in, he was aggravated by that, shaking his head and muttering. “Yeah, escort only, this is _goh se_.”

Simon grinned at that, pleased that Mal took his point. He felt himself relaxing as one by one, cabinets were refilled, organized appropriately. The captain suggested they label the shelves for the other crew, but Simon rejected the idea as gently as he could. The inventory was so fluid, he’d spend as much time trying to label as he did actually taking count.

Mal let it go, crossing his ankle over his knee as they dug into it again. He looked very comfortable there, and Simon found himself thinking back to the night Mal had struck him upon request. He’d been surprised by the man’s speed. Probably shouldn’t have been, considering all he knew of the former Sergeant. He wasn’t a large man, not like Jayne, but he was stocky and lean...people wouldn’t expect him to be fast. Simon knew he got the jump on ninety percent of his fights, but he still returned with new scars every month or so.

“Doc, I’m watching you work, not the other way around. Fluoxetine.”

Simon paused at that, surprised. Mal didn’t look at him, but he could see the corner of his mouth curl, and realized that the captain was aware of his sidelong look. “...Sorry. Fluoxetine is unchanged.”

“Ben-” Mal tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Benzo...diazepines. Triazolam. _Tā mā de_ , it’s like speaking another language.”

“Pretty much. Benzodiazepines are anxiety medications. That’s the one River takes as needed for her episodes.”

“Well, let’s not be running out of that then. Diazepam?”

“Triazolam is at 3.4g, Diazepam 5.6g….mark that one for me, I need to see if I can find it in a smaller dose. The Triazolam is 10mg tablets and Diazepam is 20, but they don't play well with her seizure medication.”

Simon turned around and caught Mal looking at him oddly, pausing with a bottle in each hand. “What?”

“Hngh.” The captain blinked and returned to the tablet, a slow smile on his face. “Top three percent.”

Simon didn’t know what to make of that so ignored it. The rest of the list was a trudge, especially when they got to the crates and Mal ended up manhandling those onto the table so he could unconsolidate Jayne’s well intentioned space-saving.

They were clearing the counters when Mal turned to fix him with a look. “You seem a sight better now that you see the floor.”

“This space...is supposed to be sterile. Sacred.” Simon answered, raking a hand through his hair as he surveyed the room. He still needed to sweep and sanitize and everything, but it did look much better. And Mal was right, he _felt_ a lot better.

“I might have some work for you on Persephone, if you’re interested.”

“...Wait, off the boat? On Persephone?”  Where the Alliance had nearly caught up with him only eight months prior? He left that last question off, hoping it was implied.

“Not in the capital itself. On the edge of town. Hear me out, I don’t even know if you’ll like the job.” Mal saved their work and set the tablet aside, crossing his arms as he leaned on the counter. “You remember Badger? He’s got work for you...well, a doctor, anyway. He’s a broker.”

Simon frowned, at that. “...As in, people? Indentured servants.”

“Yeah. They go to him, he sells their contracts and gives them half the bid. Good way to make quick money, but also dangerous. I was never personally fond of the idea. Or Badger, for that matter. But…” Mal paused, cocking an eyebrow at him. “He makes sure everyone travelling off world has health papers. Sees it as a good investment. I thought maybe you’d like to take a day and tend to some folk.”

“I…” Simon stumbled on his words, mind racing. That sounded good, sounded amazing, outside of the inherent danger of the Alliance, but he was surprised at how badly he wanted it. “Tell me more.”

“Well, I’d leave Zoe, Book, and Kaylee here with River and the ship, let Wash and Jayne make the staples run. You and I take a shuttle about twenty minutes south to the hostel. He’s got a service room there. You would assess maybe twenty some-odd pilgrims, give them their shots and vitamins and what-not, and certify them fit for travel and work, under an alias. Badger’s got a host of established medical licenses for people that don’t actually exist or practice anymore. Probably use one of those.”

“I don’t have to deal with Badger, hopefully…” Simon pressed, the idea unsettled him. Slavery in all its forms unsettled him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to interact without making his distaste known.

“No, He’ll be in the City proper most of the day, should rendezvous with us at sundown. We trade paper for cash and head home.”

“That...sounds ideal.” Simon looked at his cabinets. “I can’t tend to twenty strangers from our supplies, though. He’ll have to spring for the medications himself.”

“He will, you just make me a list of what you want on hand. I’ll wave him tonight and let him know we’re on.” Mal headed out and stopped in the doorway. “Work suits you better than a black eye, Simon.”

It was gentle reprimand, if a reprimand at all, and Simon had the decency to look embarrassed. “Well...Just...keep me busy then, Captain.”

“Shiny.”


	7. Routine

“Everybody decent?” Mal tapped on the door gently and Simon slid it open with his toe, snapping a cufflink into place as he stepped away. River’s eyes lit up, watching the captain curiously, who, Simon realized, was watching him. “Oh...noooo, Doc. No.”

“What?” Simon brushed a hand over his tie and vest, some rich blue and gold brocade piece that River had gotten him for his birthday a year before the Academy. He knew what Mal was going to say before it came out of his mouth, and he tried to look entreating. “I never get to leave the boat.”

“You ain’t met Badger, and I won’t risk you meeting him...like that. Or his crew even talking about you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a _gorram_ mahraja, Simon. We’re still on an Alliance friendly planet, and the last one you and _mei-mei_ were sighted on, remember?” Mal shut the door, and River giggled at him. The captain threw his thumb back at the doctor. “What his deal, _mei-mei_ , I can’t---”

“Special. Very special, he never sees the sky. Wanted to wear it. I picked it out for him years ago.”

“...That was halfway coherent, River.”

She laughed from the bed, throwing Simon’s pillow at him. He gestured at Simon’s closet and the doctor sighed, refusing to pout as he nodded. He was disappointed, he’d known he was overdoing it, but hoped he could throw a coat on over and just-- “No, you _Chóngbài zhě bao_ , it’s hot.”

“She’s right, Wash says ground temp is reading 95. Dead heat of summer and you want to wear layers.” Mal shook his head, then perked up and looked at River. “Wait, what did you call him?”

Simon could die, glaring at her. “Don’t--”

“Panther.” She cut her eyes at the captain, her tone conspiratorial. “He fancies himself slinky.”

Simon wished he had a pin to drop before Mal finished computing it, and grinned, then chuckled, trying briefly before giving up and just...laughing. It was a warm, rich sound, and the doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for Mal to regain himself. It took a while. “I said it _once._ . When I was _twelve_.”

“Ó, wǒ tā mā de shàngdì, nà hěn yǒu qián, that’s...that’s special, Simon. Doctor Panther and Captain Tightpants, off on a grand adventure.” He was still smiling ear to ear as he rounded back on the closet with new enthusiasm. “So...Slinky. Can we do summer slink, _mei-mei_?”

She giggled again, and Simon threw his tie at her. She pointed. “Left, left left.”

“The white?”

“Xiàng yī zhǐ gāisǐ de tiān'é!” Like a goddamned swan. Simon was scandalized, picking up his silk tie and pretending to beat her with it. She squealed, rolling further away into the corner. When Simon turned around Mal had pulled the white undershirt out, inspecting it carefully. It was a linen piece, thin and almost gauzy, perfect for wearing under vests.

“...Yeah. This one.” Mal said in a tone that brooked no argument. He handed it over and waited expectantly.

“...Alright.” Simon glanced between him and the closet. “And?”

“Hm? And, what?” Mal and River exchanged glances and Simon flushed, indignant. The captain just crossed his arms, standing between Simon and the closet. “Ohhh, you want more clothes.”

“That would be prudent, yes.”

Mal pretended to consider it for all of five seconds before smirking. “No.”

River guffawed, and Simon stood stunned. He really expected him to work...to go out, at all...in one of his undershirts. No vest, no pockets, open collar, and hell this one had a _string_ to tie at the throat, not even real buttons. It was meant to be worn with a cravat, at minimum.

“I’ve seen your selection of vests, and even the more boring ones are silk, doctor.” Mal hooked his thumbs in his pockets and smiled broadly. As he headed out the door, he paused and offered aside, “Also, if you come out in anything else, the whole ship’s going to be calling you Doctor Panther.”

 

XXXX

“Well, I’ll be.” Wash hummed delightedly as Simon stepped through the door to the cargo bay with a slight set to his jaw. He felt like a goddamned romance character. The starch had long gone from the collar after two years on the run. Even before arriving on Serenity, Simon had learned exactly what aspects of his former life he could live without. He tried to stay as neat as possible.

This was not pressed, not even neat, the shirt felt so thin that he caught a breeze through it. If his hair were a bit longer, he was sure he could pass for Shakespearian in simple black breeches and boots. His medic bag was slung over one shoulder and the shirt fell from the opposite side stubbornly. He raised his hand to correct it and caught himself, focusing instead on not blushing as half the crew looked up at Wash’s regard.

“...I didn’t know you could dress down.” Kaylee mirrored Wash, propping her chin on the control panel. “Good job.”

“He didn’t, I made him.” Mal called from the catwalk, waving to Inara as she turned back towards her own shuttle. “Alright, here we go. Wash don’t spend all my money. Doc and I are gonna be the last ones home this round, so Jayne, if you don’t hear from us two hours past rendezvous, please kindly rain hell on Badger’s city lodgings, dong ma?”

“With pleasure.” Jayne hopped up on the back of the mule and sneered at Simon. “Damn boy, get dressed.”

Simon finally lifted a foot to move towards the stairs, bound and determined to ignore them all when River caught his wrist from behind. He turned back to find her watching him curiously, then she whispered. “Don’t worry about it. Do what he says. It’s fine.”

He didn’t have a chance to ask before she was skipping up the stairs to the mess hall. The doctor took a deep breath and chose not to read too deeply into her mood, because honestly this was the best it had been in months. In a _really_ long time. And it was Mal that made her laugh, and Kaylee, and Book. She liked these people, was growing more fond of them every day. He hoped that would be a good thing for her, long enough to let him make real progress on her stability.

Simon tried to ignored the heavy stare he was getting from the catwalk as the room cleared, the power doors hissing closed after the mule pulled out.  Mal was just trying to make him self-conscious, and he’d be sorely disappointed. The doctor had made up his mind, he’d wear this as well as he could. Mal watched him all the way up the stairs with a carefully blank expression, and Simon half expected a snide remark, a cat call, anything to illuminate Mal’s newfound joy in ordering him around.

Instead, the older man just turned after him, sealing the air lock and then headed into the shuttle proper. Simon was just shrugging out of the heavy bag strap when it pulled tight against his chest and he stumbled backwards against the wall. Mal stepped around him easily, and much, much too close.

Oh. This. He’d forgotten this, and Mal seemed to know that, waiting for dawning recognition in those eyes before looking him over very pointedly. Simon knew the captain wasn’t about to hit him, he was fairly confident, but he still jumped when the man raised his hand between them and turned his chin to the right. The other traced a finger along the last trace of purple left over from the rough few weeks prior. “Much better, these days.”

“Mal, I--”

“Shut up, Simon.”

The doctor’s teeth almost clicked, swallowing whatever protest was about to form on his tongue. He could feel the heat of Mal’s chest inches from his own, through the goddamn shirt, of course he could. And Mal surely did too, that was the point of this, right? He’d already looked at him several times today alone, he knew the state of his bruising.

There was a hint of humor around the man’s mouth, and Simon hoped he didn’t find this...amusing. That was not the word he’d use. Thrilling maybe. Indiscreet. Problematic. “Were you intending to refresh it?”

“No, I told you...I don’t much like hitting folk who don’t deserve it.”

Simon lifted his chin slightly, and Mal shook his head. He opened both rough palms over Simon’s collar and pushed abruptly, until Simon was well and truly stuck against the door, and Mal’s voice pitched slightly lower as he ran them down. “Never did learn how to relax. To settle in.”

His hands were moving and Simon’s heart picked up in his ears, almost drowning out the voice as he tried to shrink away from the touch. There was nowhere to go however. They untied the string at his throat, brushed the broad edges of the collar open, then down, taking either side of the hem and pulled--

Tore, the thin fabric parting with little effort and a static sound. Simon’s hands flew up, his eyes down, looking at the two inch tear incredulously. “Mal!”

“Shut. Up.” Mal repeated firmly, hands moving on, sliding down his sides and lingering on the shape of his ribs, to pull his shirt loose. It hung off of his frame once it cleared the belt, and Simon was very sure he was going to die here. Like this. This would be the death of him, those shadowed blue eyes and his heart hard enough that he could feel it as a viable temperature difference between them. Mal’s expression was stone, polished and empty except the heat in his eyes. “I’m not, Simon. Whatever you think I’m doing, I’m not. Or I’d tell you.”

“Oh, so this doesn’t warrant anything close to an explanation?” Simon tried to deny how sharp it sounded, and Mal cocked an eyebrow at him, hands moving on to his belt as though he hadn’t spoken.

Simon’s own fell on the man's elbows in shock, but he was quick and nimble and the doctor barely felt it as the belt hissed free of the loops and Mal folded it in his fist.

Mal leaned close to mutter, “I would tell you exactly what my intentions were. Every step. How I expected you to behave. What I wanted from you. So don’t look so worried, dong ma?”

He looped the belt behind Simon’s back and settled it low on his hips, trapping the shirt in and redoing the buckle. He moved to Simon’s sleeves next, rolling them with gentle brushes of his blunt fingers, until they sat just above the elbow, and continued up. Simon shivered despite himself as those fingers wound into his hair and mussed it slowly, one hand slipping to the nape of his neck to take a fistful and twist gently, bringing Simon up on his toes. He heard himself,  a low sound he hoped he could disguise as a sigh, but no, Mal’s eyes darkened intensely as the other hand retreated, slid into his pocket, holding him there. Casually. As though Simon weren’t on tiptoe against his will to make eye contact, _fuck---_

Simon felt the heat flare in his stomach, rising through his cheeks as he realized yes, that was exactly what Mal was doing. Sorting out the edges, teasing. Testing. He hung there, breathing as steadily as he could, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to him to resist yet. The captain had to be thinking the same. 

“Good.” Mal eased him down, but the scarce two inches felt like he’d lost the common ground, looking up at the man and realizing he wasn’t all that nervous. Challenged, perhaps, but not nervous. Mal loomed, and Simon let him, watching his face curiously. “We’ll try this instead of the beating.”

“What is this?”

“What you asked for...not so different from our daily routine, I realized. I do what I want, and you do what I want, until you can’t anymore. And then I take care of things.” Mal smoothed his shirt, satisfied that he looked travel worn enough to pass, though his fingers lingered over the nape of his neck as he turned towards the helm. “I believe you called it foreplay.”

Simon shuddered in earnest, glad his back was turned.


	8. Patience

Simon’s mind was racing. He had forty five minutes alone with the captain, in close quarters, which was likely the longest stretch he’d ever had with both of them conscious. Hellish, was the first word that came to mind, but it was followed quickly by interesting. Mal was a complicated man. He’d been curious, who wouldn’t be? As to whether or not he was interested...well, who wouldn’t be. He knew Mal had a depth of emotion that he never let on, and no lack of kindness either. Simon wondered if he was just special enough to receive the Sergeant treatment.

“You’re burning a hole in my head with your thinking.” Mal broke the silence with the a sidelong glance. Simon didn’t deny it, half curled in the second seat Zoe had installed for a co-pilot the day before. He didn’t know anything about flying, but the alternative was sitting in the cargo area, in the floor. This was far more comfortable, and right now, keeping comfortable also meant keeping the captain and his troublesome hands in sight at all costs.

“Just...marveling, really. You’re hardly a shy man.”

“That’s accurate.”

“So...why the sudden interest?”

“It’s not sudden, you just didn’t notice it.” Mal replied easily, not quite shrugging. “‘Sides, I’m not impulsive. Wanted a better sense of you before I let on.”

That was surprisingly adult, and refreshing. Simon propped his head on his hand, watching his profile. “I thought you had a rule about shipboard romances.”

“My first mate and my pilot are married.”

That...was a point. Simon chuckled, shifting to tuck a boot under one leg. “I thought...maybe you and Inara?”

“ _Wo de ma,_ No.” Mal laughed, shaking his head. “She’s...no. We’re two left feet trying to wear the same shoe. Not compatible.”

“Ah... She must not like having her hair pulled.”

Mal did stop to look at him at that, and Simon met his eyes, refusing to back down. The captain cleared his throat before continuing, “...You’ve got all kinds of nerve. No, I don’t reckon she does. Never tried it, but she considers her hair an investment, I don’t think it would go over well.”

“...She’s been trained to handle people. I can’t see you being handled, per se.” Simon ventured, tentatively exploring since the captain was feeling talkative. Mal grinned but didn’t answer him, flipping a switch on the dashboard.

“You’re rounding about to asking why I’m set on you.” Mal said with no hint of sarcasm, adjusting their altitude slightly. “Fair question. You might notice I surround myself with professional people. Even Jayne’s got a skill set. I collect talent where I find it.”

“I had noticed, yes, but I came with a set of baggage.”

“She ain’t baggage, doc. Not the way you treat her. And that’s why.”

“River?” Simon grinned, tilting his head. “You like me because of my little sister?”

“No.” Mal leaned back to look at him, lifting an eyebrow and taking him in with a sweeping look. “ _That_. Is why. You. Who you are with her, the fact that you came from a home that likely had real cow’s milk in the fridge and I’ve never heard you complain on our rations. Kinda background you have doesn’t breed good men, in my experience.”

“You like me because I’m...good.” Simon hedged, flattered despite himself.

“I like a man willing to burn the world down for the people he cares about. You had every chance, every good reason to look the other way and let them take River. One more girl, one more name on the list of souls that disappeared for whatever reason they saw fit. And you said no. And you took everything you had under thumb and set it on fire...and then got away with it.”

Simon blinked hard, taken aback by the weight of the sentiment, and hated the tiny part of his brain that threw its hands up and screamed ‘Thank you!’, to the stars, because someone had fucking noticed. It mattered. He was doing good work, and yes, he would absolutely set everything, and everyone, ‘on fire’ as Mal put it, at any given moment, for his beautiful, darling, obnoxious little sister. No doubt in his mind. And apparently not in Mal’s either. He opened his mouth, surely to say something else, but all that came out was a quiet, “Thank you.”

“It’s not just her.” Mal continued, ignoring his hushed tone. “You didn’t have to take this job. Doctoring doesn’t come natural to very many people, but you didn’t ask me about them. Just their circumstances. And you’re still on this shuttle, heading out to help some poor bastards that sold their time way too cheap. I got a lot of reasons.”

Simon smiled.

“Oh, and your hair’s pretty.”

Simon blushed, bit his tongue, but Mal cut him a roguish glance and he found himself laughing, relaxing under the idea that yeah, okay...perhaps the captain had a genuine interest. Fine.

“Is your curiosity satisfied? Or do I need to turn on autopilot for a while?”

“Oh…” Simon’s eyes went wide, raking a hand over his face and staring out the window. “God, no, you can’t do that. I haven’t….done this...I don’t--”

Mal just grinned and propped a foot up on the dash, watching the terrain change as they left the city limit and broke into the prairie, sun high on the dunes outside. “Starting to see why you flustered Kaylee so.”

“I’m just… processing, I guess.” He smirked behind his hand and then ran it through his hair, careful of his stitches. “So...when you tore my shirt…”

“ _Zhēn de ma_ , Simon, _now_ you’re flirting.” Mal sat up and pointed at the dash. “There is autopilot. It’s right there.”

“Let me flirt!” Simon threw his hands up, dropping his feet to the floor as he leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m sorry, I just...I don’t get to have this very often. At least...not with the intention to reciprocate.”

Mal deadpanned at that, reached for the AP button and Simon swatted his hand away, laughing. He feigned a second try, and Simon was slow (or Mal was just _fast_ ), and the captain’s hand closed around his wrist, firmly. The doctor froze, just looking at the contrast of tanned, scarred skin against his, and swallowed. He felt the shift like a wave of warm water in the air, bringing his eyes up to Mal’s.

The captain was watching him, that strange, intense expression on his face again, belying the ease at which the rest of his body remained. His other hand rested fingers on the control wheel, feet flat on the floor, eyes pointedly looking out the window once before returning. His grip was tight, edging on punishing, and when he glanced down, Simon felt that look rolling across his hand, his wrist and forearm, up his shoulder, along the line of his throat. It was as heavy as a touch in itself, and made his breath catch. He could want this, he realized. He could learn to want this attention very badly.

“We’re calling today an exercise in self control, Simon.” Mal relayed, no twitch of release at all in his grip. “I like testing mine. I like dismantling others’.”

Simon licked the edge of his teeth, pulling against the grip gently. “You must be very patient.”

The captain’s fingers only tightened a breath before pulling away and his fingers trailed over the hot pulse before the contact broke. “I am. I’m in no hurry with this. ‘Tend to treat it like a fine meal.”

That sounded... _maddening_. Simon pulled his hand back to his lap and resolved in that moment that he would do his best to shred the man’s control. He fingered the torn edges of his collar, savoring the day’s revelations. It was only nine in the morning. He felt like he’d just discovered a new frontier of medicine, and he’d challenged Mal to keep him busy, but this was an extravagant left turn into unknown waters. And he was so calm about it, outlining all of his insight without even hinting at his own past or character. Not that his character wasn’t well on display, all the time. It was the reason Simon and River were still on Serenity, still trusting this man. And Simon _did_ trust him.

He considered that, through the landing sequence, through the introductory wave Mal sent the hostel’s administrator.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mal finally asked as the door slid open and warm sunlight splashed across the floor, followed by a wave of heat.

Simon shifted his bag on his shoulder, stepping out. “I’m glad one of us is patient.”

XXXX

The first patient made Simon question the wisdom of the whole endeavor. The very, first, patient. He adjusted the breathing mask that counted as his disguise, and watched every line in Mal’s form lock into stone as the gentleman sat down behind him. He narrowed his eyes curiously, but spotted the reason as the ex soldier shrugged out of his shirt. Alliance dogtags, silver, octagonal, hanging just over the man’s heart.

He was suddenly very glad he’d insisted on Mal wearing a mask too, because he recognized the glint in his eye, but the patient seemed oblivious. Simon put his stethoscope up to the man’s heart, careful not to meet his eyes as he intoned, “Thank you for your service.”

“Don’t...I deserted.” The man said bluntly, eyes fixed on the wall.

Simon risked a glance up at that, but the man was firmly avoiding his eyes. He backtracked, taking the pulse at the wrist. “A lot did, for a lot of reasons. Might have saved your life.”

“Saved it for selling.” The soldier sighed, and Simon was suddenly reminded of the gravity of the situation, the reason he was here. He took his time going through the man’s record and asking all the appropriate questions. In the end, he gave him a routine set of shots and sent him on his way.

They lined out the door, waiting on benches and chairs that Simon was surprised to learn were brought there by the broker himself, on the bus that carried them out from the city. One or two cases of influenza, one particularly bad cough, arthritis...run of the mill, simple, clean work. Blessedly clean work. He forgot all about his conversation with Mal after the first few hours, focusing on the people he could help.

The captain remained in the room as long as the women were dressed, excusing himself to guard the door otherwise. He handed Simon tools and medications as needed, and rested in a chair to one side through the initial inspections. It was steady, easy, and exactly what Simon hoped it would be. The only other hiccup in the day was the twelve year old who came in alone. Simon was irrationally angry from one breath to the next, biting down on it to ask her how much she knew of her family history, and their health.

She was orphaned, and Simon’s mind jumped to the darkest paths he could follow. Mal could tell this one was upsetting him, but didn’t comment, She was alone in the world, brunette, willowy with largish feet that she hadn't grown into yet, and a delicate grace that reminded him so much of River that he thought he could kill the next man that looked at her sideways. Aside from the line of tension in his shoulders, he hid this remarkably well.

“Well! Captain Reynolds, glad you could make it out!” The door had opened without word, and Mal was on his feet in an instant, but relaxed at Simon’s elbow.

“Badger. Good to have the work. This here is the doc, he’s just wrapping up with this one. How many more?”

“I shuttled over with the last five me’self. They’re telling me good things, could make this a regular gig if you’re in my zone enough.” Badger’s accent was annoying, Simon thought as he tucked the girl’s hair back with a foul taste in his mouth. There was a pause, and the broker sounded annoyed, “Well, don’t stop on my account, doctor.”

Simon closed his eyes and prayed for strength, pretending to be distracted. “I”m sorry, this one...has...weak lungs. She shouldn’t do any hard labor, I was just checking--”

“Not bound for hard labor.” Badger interrupted, shaking his offered hand with a affronted expression. He must have seen the ice in Simon’s eyes, the subtle way he shifted to block the girl from him, because he snapped next. “What...Oh, what the fuck you take me for, _Xiǎo gǒu_?”

He crossed his arms, and Mal shot him a warning glance, but before Simon could answer, he barreled straight on, “She’s off to be a nurse, on Providence. A bloody retirement home, looking for new girls to train.”

Simon’s shoulders dropped in surprise. “Oh.”

“Damn right, ‘oh’…” Badger adjusted his hat. “Came out of indenture me’self when I was her age. Set her up with a good trade, not a whorehouse.”

“I didn’t--”

“Yeah, don’t reckon ya did, did ya?” Badger snapped, rounding on Mal. “I amend my offer. We can do this if the _húndàn_ doctor doesn’t talk much.”

“I’m sorry.” Simon broke in, catching the broker’s eyes, trying to show he meant it. “...I am. I see all types, I just...worry. About the young ones. You can’t blame me...you _know_.”

That seemed to mollify the criminal somewhat, and Mal took the chance to pull his attention away again. “Only bad man on my crew is me, Badger. He didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“...Yeah, alright. I know how it looks. Let’s try that again, eh?” Badger offered his hand a second time and Simon took it a little more firmly. “I’m Badger. Pleasure.”

“Jacob.” Simon lied smoothly, turning back the girl to help her off the high bench. “Are you excited to be a nurse, Lily?”

She beamed at him, nodding. Simon grinned, patting her shoulder, because he knew the twelve-year-olds resented head-pats from excruciating experience. “Alright then. Good luck to you. Study hard, or you’ll end up like me.”

She slipped out the door and Badger followed, waving in their next patient.

“Six more.” Mal reminded him, returning to his chair. "Try not to get us shot."

Simon waved, since they couldn’t see him smile. “Hello there!”


	9. Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I iterate, this fic is an absolute indulgence on my part. If anyone wants to get me a Malcom Reynolds of my very own Christmas, I would be forever happy. Yep.

Money and papers changed hands, Simon diligently filling out the forms he promised as Mal and the broker sat on either side of him. Simon did his best to be detailed, because this was likely the first and last time a few of these patients had seen a healthcare professional and he made sure to include prescription notes where possible, on the off-shot that their contractor was the caring sort that would provide. The conversation had turned to drinks and food, and Mal offered to buy Badger’s dinner out of the wage, but was turned down. As it turned out, Badger hadn’t been boasting about his roots in the community.

Instead, the broker sent them a mile up the road to a small pub that he owned, planet-famous for its rabbit stew. He’d paid well. Very well, in fact, even Mal was surprised, but Badger said he appreciated the attention to detail he was seeing in the sheets. It seemed that their mistepped introduction was behind them, and “Jacob” was welcome back anytime they hit Persephone. 

Simon still waited until they left the hostel to remove his mask, though the captain had tossed his as soon as the last patient cleared the room. He tucked it into his pocket in a moment of paranoia, but he highly doubted they’d run into Alliance in one Badger’s establishments. 

Mal dropped his bag on the shuttle and waved Zoe that they’d be bringing dinner with them in a few hours. Then he waved the pub itself and placed the order ahead of time, so they would have a chance to start it before they arrived. Simon had decided on a beer before they ever set foot in the direction of the pub. He and Mal fell into an easy step together in the afternoon sun, the sidewalk mostly empty. Small shops lined the road, their owners perched in chairs by the door with cool drinks, windows thrown open and local music drifting out intermittently. 

It was so surreal, to be off the ship, in public, after nearly two years of hiding. He was more than  a little on edge, but Mal didn’t seem to share his tension. He was alert, eyes constantly moving, checking alleys as they passed and glancing back whenever they caught a crosslight, but his hands rested loosely in his pockets instead of on his gun. Simon would rather bask in the warmth of the evening anyway. It was never warm in the black. The ship’s automated environment kept them comfortable, but Simon tended to run a little hotter than his sister. It was rare that he went without layers, or at least a thermal. 

He felt good. Reviewing the day’s work, it seemed like some knot in the back of his head was working loose and he hadn’t realized it existed until it was gone. Peaceful. They reached the pub, and Simon stopped in the door, nostalgia hitting him square in the gut. He hadn’t seen a bar like this in...years, back in his uni days. Small, comfortable, a few pool tables in the back, a thin haze of smoke and dancing holo-signs on the walls. 

Mal’s hand on the small of his back reminded him he was blocking the door, and he half expected there to be a gun check, but that was a very inner-circle mentality. Mal strode through with his gun belt and no one glanced up. Simon followed him to the bar, claiming the stool next to him as he checked on their large order. Another twenty minutes out. 

“Perfect. Two whiskeys and whatever’s on tap for us, and I’ll close out, my friend.” The captain said, sliding his chip into the bar to pay. The beer arrived in frosted glasses and the shots had lights in the bottom that made Simon roll his eyes. He managed to take it without coughing, then pulled his beer over with a contented sigh. 

“River is painting in the engine room, Zoe says. Or maybe even painting the engine room, I don’t know.” Mal mentioned, resting an elbow on the bar. 

“It’s a been a good day.” Simon marvelled, reviewing it all in his head, even the playfighting over the clothes that morning. “I haven’t...had this. In years.”

Mal quirked an eyebrow and he continued, talking with his hands after a sip of beer. “I mean...just this. This simple drink, at a bar, after a day of work, knowing she’s okay and there’s going to be food later…”

“You went under...what, two years ago? And sprung her eight months back?” Mal checked his math, nodding as he surveyed the crowd. “Reckon you’ve earned this a few times over.”

“It’s never safe. Hell, this probably isn’t, if I think about it long enough.” 

“Badger’s ain’t the type of place to have cameras, I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s plausible deniability, as far as he’s concerned.” 

Simon felt the whiskey settling warm in his stomach and curled into its presence with utter gratitude. He would bask in this, as long as he was allowed to have it. River, safe, and for a moment, he was allowed to just be Simon. The Simon that used to gamble on college sports, practice speed suturing on fruits for free shots, the man who talked an amazing drink game namely because he knew he would lose but it meant he didn’t have to pay for all of his own liquor. The Simon that would tuck into the corner stool with a textbook until last call, cramming for an exam he was going to take half-drunk in four hours and still pass with flying colors. It was easy to be that Simon. That simple, young, talented person without a care in the world. With a future. 

“Huh.” Mal grunted, settling on to the stool himself once he was convinced he didn’t know any of the patrons and no one was paying him any attention. 

  
“What?” 

“...This suits you, is all.” Mal said, looking him over. “You look like...a student. Younger."

“I graduated a month before I got River’s S.O.S. I’d only lived on Ariel a year? ….Yes, a year, at that point.” Simon chatted, drinking his beer and feeling its warmth in his cheeks. “For about four months, near the end of school, I let myself be a person. Stopped checking in with dad every week, I was making my own money. I’d just found an apartment. I remember...I was struggling to decorate it. You know...inner circle problems.” 

Mal laughed dryly at that, taking his shot and sliding the glass across to be collected. Simon looked him over quietly, wondering if Mal had ever--

“No.” He intuited, shaking his head. “I went to war pretty early on, left college after they destroyed Shadow.” 

“Where are you from?” Simon asked. 

“Shadow.” Mal didn’t quite bite the word, but Simon heard an entire story echoing in this short exchange, and he knew he wasn’t going to get more of it on a single beer and shot. He didn’t press. Mal shrugged as though to dismiss the topic and glanced over at him. “Work suits you.”

“I think you just like working men. And women. People.” Simon fumbled, shaking his head. 

“I do, but yours is...different.” The captain paused to drink, and kept on, “It’s hard. And selfless, and arrogant, and I’d imagine rewarding, if the circumstances are right.”

“I couldn’t have been anything else.” 

Mal grinned at that, nodding. “I don’t think I could either. I’m made for what I do.”

“What  _ do  _ you do?”

“Bluntly? Whatever I like.” Mal quipped, polishing off his beer and nodding to Simon’s. “Come on now, I wish we could stay and do this proper, but Jayne’ll start eating people if I make him wait too long. I told him to pick some up for the ship tonight, anyway, we’re just getting a head start.” 

Simon nodded, working through the last third of his beer in two quick rounds. Drinks here were nice, drinks with the crew sounded...better. Sounded like going home. He smiled at his empty glass and muttered without looking up. “I needed this. Thank you. Do I owe you anything?” 

“I take care of mine.” Mal waved it off, hauling their parcel of food away from the bartender and splitting it with him. The thermal bags were warm, probably unneeded in the summer heat, but the idea of real meat and vegetables made his stomach twist. They left before the crowd got too thick, stepping out into purple twilight. 

A thought occurred to him about halfway back to the ship, and he supposed a public street with both of their hands full was a safe place to ask, so he leaned forward to catch Mal’s eye. “Hey...so...what exactly are your intentions? With me?”

Mal gave him a sidelong look, slowing just slightly. “Like...now? Long term?”

“I”m a systemic fugitive, Mal, I don’t think long term anymore.” Simon chuckled, adjusting the bags just a little. A cat darted around the corner and he peered after it curiously as they passed...River had always wanted a cat. “ So yeah, for now, you said you’d tell me.” 

“I think you mistook my meaning, Simon.” He answered, but seemed to be thinking, so Simon just waited. They came a light on an empty corner and Mal made his usual check before fixing the doctor with that deep blue stare again. “I meant that when I decide to put my hands on you, you’ll know. When and how I want to touch you. Kiss you. Whatever comes to mind.”

“Kiss me?” Simon eyes widened at that, he hadn’t pegged the captain as the type. He narrowed them in a skeptical look, watching the man. “How do you expect me to be patient when there’s kissing involved?”

“Oh, that part’s simple enough.” Mal smirked, shifting a half step closer into Simon’s space. “I’ll show you when we get to the shuttle. Right now...cross the street.”

He turned away and Simon all but rolled his eyes at his back. Show him in the shuttle. Wait. Show him, in the shuttle...his breath caught when realized there was still a forty five minute flight ahead of them, one that had  _ autopilot _ . Simon cursed under his breath as he followed the captain. Mal had an easy grin on his face, not quite smug, but Simon was too curious to resist. “I think you default to giving orders so you can brag about your self-restraint.” 

“Simon, shut-up before I drag you into one of these alleys like a two-bit whore.” 

Something rolled over in his chest at that threat, his eyes sharp on the back of Mal’s head. They were, actually, passing several alleys that had surely seen worse, and it surprised him that he considered that before the fact that Mal had just used his name and whore in the same sentence. He knew he was right. He knew the captain defaulted to Sergeant when his patience was running out, but he’d only seen that in anger so far. The idea of lust driving that sharp tone, those hard eyes...well, that was worth exploring. What a wonderful fucking day this was.

He knew he had the captain’s attention. He could tell by the way Mal’s pace kept him just behind his right shoulder, even though he never looked back. Simon existed in his periphery, and had apparently done so for a while now. Should he risk flirting? God, when was the last time he’d attempted to seduce someone other than Kaylee? And Kaylee pretty much seduced herself, she hadn’t exactly needed Simon’s participation in the matter. Mal was another gambit altogether. 

Physically attracted, at minimum. Though aside from the snide remark about his hair, he’d actually pointed out a half dozen worthwhile facts about Simon that he would  _ rather  _ the man pay attention to. Mal had been looking. Watching him work during inventory, choosing this piece of gauze for his uniform today, and after, when he’d  _ touched-- _

...He blamed the drinks for the heat in his chest. Tried very, very hard to keep himself from looking half as...anxious, as he felt, as the shuttle drew into sight. Mal opened the door with his hip, glancing inside to be sure it was empty before nodding Simon through. 

And then Mal was at his back, wasn’t he? As though he hadn’t been there all day. No, he was just there and  _ thinking  _ about it now, and that made all the difference. Simon was usually better at compartmentalizing things, but the door hissed closed behind him and he heard Mal set the bags down and lock it. 

Simon found he couldn’t move in the dark. He wondered just how extensive the captain’s control really was….wondered if he’d gone quietly into the alley, would he still be quiet by now. 

He shivered, shoved that thought away for later study, and almost jumped when Mal took the thermal bags from him and tucked them against the wall of the shuttle. He didn’t speak, circling Simon slowly until he stood in front of him again. It took a full thirty seconds for Simon to meet his eyes. 

“That’s better.” Mal stepped closer, tugging the stray side of his collar up, eyes on the fabric and skin. “I do like giving orders Simon. I like giving orders because I can’t even take you out for a gorram drink without you asking if you owe me something. So let’s be clear, on this. You don’t owe me anything. I can give this to you, it’s mine to give.” 

Simon nodded, trying to deny how very hard he was thinking about kissing the captain. He remembered his promise to shred his self control, and asked hesitantly. “Am...I allowed to ask for things?”

Mal’s smile took on a wicked edge. “I leave out anything you’re hoping for, you  _ gorram  _ better. Preferably several times, at volume.”

Mother of god, yes, this was maddening. Simon closed his eyes, chin dropping slightly as he considered it, trying to ignore the tone of the man’s voice but that was impossible. He felt it in his  _ bones _ . 

“...I can do that.” Simon breathed, chewing on this heady feeling. “..What did you have in mind?”


	10. Fire

Mal’s fingers skirted lightly over his chest, he seemed to be thinking. Simon was learning to recognize that expression as hunger, and it made him feel volatile, because it’d been years. _Years_. God only knew how long for Mal himself, he was so reserved in everything he did. His fingers settled over Simon’s heart and he smiled at the rabbit-scream pace he found there, but the doctor only lifted his chin slightly.

If it were possible to sink the last few inches between them, that’s what Mal did, not even a step, just a slow sway that stole the air out of the room. He lowered his head slightly, speaking low against the doctor’s ear, “You’re going to stand here while I get us in the air and on course. Practice being calm about it, if you can.”

Simon’s eyes fell closed as he listened. He pressed forward, aligning their bodies from shoulders to chest and was gratified to hear Mal slur into his next sentence, knowing it had nothing to do with alcohol.” _mm_ , I think you’ll leave this _dàngāo jié bīng_ shirt here when I call you over, so I know I won’t be tempted to damage it further. You sit with me a spell while we talk. See how well we do on our self control. Dong ma?”

He nodded sharply, feeling his entire self sway forward when the captain pulled away with a final appraising look. He did as he promised, returning to the dash and spinning to the controls for a long moment. Talk, he said. Simon pressed his fingers to his throat to take his own pulse in the wake of _this_ talk, his head swimming.

He wanted. In a way that was foreign to him, that he’d never even come close to with darling Kaylee or any previous lovers. There was something utterly freeing in this moment, being allowed to stand and think and watch. He set his feet a little further to brace himself as the shuttle lifted and found himself staring at the floor. Simon was used to rigid structure in his life. His family led a well-moneyed lifestyle, clean and concise in every sense of the word. He enjoyed the way Mal handled him. Verbally, at least. He responded to it, which made him wonder exactly how far that was going to extend into the physical. Simon was not a passive lover, at least not with anyone else. He had his own appetite and desires.

Which was completely at odds with the way he _flinched_ when Mal turned around in his chair. The captain watched him a moment, and he felt exposed, like there was truth on display that he’d forgotten to lock up. He was supposed to be practicing his calm. Mal had to know that was impossible. There was tremor in his surgeon’s hands that annoyed him. He squared his shoulders and pulled the hem of his shirt up and over, a mental image of River in the cargo bay filling his senses.

_Don’t worry about it. Do what he says._

He smiled behind the shirt and then balled it up gently, tossing it near the food. Mal’s mouth was hidden behind his hand as he reclined in the chair, shadowed by the evening light. He’d never turned on the cabin’s overhead, so the small vehicle was a wash of purple and dark, and Simon’s pale skin.

It didn’t take long. Mal held out his hand, and Simon took a deep breath and moved into reach. He didn’t take the offered hand, instead stepping inside the man’s knees so that it settled on the skin of his hip. It was warm, he could pick out the small calluses when Mal ran a slow stroke up his side and back down. He thought he could die under that stare, the captain drinking him in without a word. The hand settled on his hip again, gripped sharply, and then tugged him down.

Simon folded without hesitation, resting his hands loosely on his own knees and sitting back on his heels as he waited.

Mal’s boots slid forward, deepening his position between them, and Simon shivered, watching him.

“I love it when you look at me.” The captain said after a long moment. “I’d take it as a kindness if you’d do that more often.”

“I will.” Simon smiled, and then added teasingly, “Sir.”

The captain shook his head, cursing and leaned forward to tilt his chin up. “No, you sound like Zoe, that’s unsettling. You’ll use my name, dong ma?”

“Yes, Mal.”

The captain made a affirmative sound and then rough fingers were threading through his hair. Simon sighed into the touch, noting how they were careful to avoid his wound, tilting his head back to bask in it. The other hand came to join, and Simon was dumbfounded at how willing he was to sit here and be touched. Petted, even. Those hands moved in rhythmic circles over his scalp, brushing below and tracing his ears, and Simon found himself slightly off balance, resting his hands on Mal’s knees as he tilted into the touch appreciatively.

“What kind of things would you ask me for, Simon?”

“This.” Simon answered drunkenly, murmuring as he ghosted his lips over the captain’s wrist. “Whenever you want, it feels amazing. I just like the attention.”

“You certainly have my attention.” Mal confirmed, his finger resting under Simon’s chin as the other hand wound into the thick waves at the nape of his neck and slowly tightened into a fist. “And this?”

“ _Ta ma de_.” Fuck, fuck, Simon lost the pace of his breathing from one inhale to the next, making no move to alleviate the pressure. He hoped that was answer enough.

It wasn’t. The fist twisted, until he came up with it, just slightly, from his heels. “ _Yes_. That’s...perfect.”

The captain made some contented sound low in his chest that could have been a growl, coming down to put it right in his ear. Simon almost shied from it, his voice like another shot of whiskey to his system. “Some things are better with an edge. What else?”

“I don’t--” God, he was going to die well before they made it back to Serenity, at this rate. Mal hadn’t even done anything yet, and Simon was close to asking for things he couldn’t even name. His nails bit into the captain’s thighs lightly, sliding a few inches higher.

He felt the heat of Mal’s lips against his throat, just once, lightly, then again, lingering. He shivered despite himself, wholly tempted to just climb into the captain’s lap and be done with this teasing.

But no. No, this was an exercise, Mal had said. So Simon hung there, ignoring the tremor in his lungs.

Until Mal opened his mouth and pressed the fine edge of his teeth into the crux of his shoulder gently, and Simon’s blood caught fire. His hand flew to the back of the captain’s neck, cursing under his breath as he shifted in that grip despite himself. He was good, he was fine, he was--

 _Biting down_ , and Simon let loose a string of desperate curses, encouragement, up on his knees now to give him better access and also hide his face in the man’s shoulder, that was-- “Perfect, Mal, that’s good.”

“Good.” Mal iterated as he pulled back, tongue running hot up to his ear, making him keen in his grip. “ What else?”

“Mal, I can’t--”

“You _will_.”

Simon’s teeth clicked shut at the order, refusing to admit to himself that he was already hard, and that command was absolutely thrilling. He forced himself to breathe, to calm down, to think. He’d never done this before, nothing even close to this. He honestly couldn’t remember what he enjoyed, but Mal seemed determined to drag it out of him in pieces, and his mind raced. The doctor didn’t know if he wanted to bide his time or push his luck. He licked his lips, taking in the captain’s infuriatingly patient expression, and decided he would play this game.

He would _win_ this game, if it meant Mal kept doing it. “I...like being here.”

“On your knees?”

“For you.” Simon specified, trailing his nails down the captain’s thighs and back up to remind him they were there. The man’s eyes fell closed, his jaw set. The fist in his hair did not waver. “I like...your teeth, like that. I’m not sure I can stay quiet if...you do that more often.”

His voice seemed to be having an affect on the captain, Mal’s own breaths deepened to something slow and measured. He wished he had the presence of mind to drop his tone on purpose, but he was way past that at this point. Another time. Another time, he would repay this teasing in kind, he swore it. The heat between them was palpable, Simon could feel the captain’s heart rushing just through the fabric covering his thighs, and another, deeper warmth higher up that he longed to explore. Mal met his eyes, and Simon let his hands wander, drifting closer until he felt the tip of the man’s cock trapped against his thigh.

It was like watching the sky break in Mal’s eyes as he brushed his thumb over it. The fist collapsed to the back of his neck in shock, and then tightened possessively, and he might have struck the captain with the way he folded over the touch. It had been a while. A long while.

He explored quietly, pressing his lips against the captain’s ear. “Mal, I want to kiss you.”

“Simon, I could eat you alive.” Mal groaned, sliding forward in the chair long enough to trap him, holding him firmly still while he struggled with it. “I’ll kiss you when I’m certain I’m not going to fuck you on the floor.”

“Mal, please.” Simon pressed the flat of his palm in a hard line up the captain’s cock and was rewarded with a string of filthy curses and the man’s nails up his spine. He jumped, twisting, and that second of yield was all Mal needed to pull the offending hand away and twist it up behind his back. The captain pulled him up by the grip, knocking his knees apart and pulling him deeply into his lap.

“Be still, now.” Mal bit off, releasing his wrists and Simon’s hands immediately found his hair, dipping to press slow kisses along the hot line of his throat. The captain leaned back, still cursing faintly, and Simon settled his weight firmly on the erection beneath his ass. Mal’s hands came to his hips in warning, but Simon pulled back, breathless.

“ _Kiss_ me, Mal.”

He saw the break, saw it very clearly and whatever crow of victory he heard in the back of his head, it was smothered by the low thunder that was Mal’s kiss. The captain pulled him down and there was no warning, no chance to breathe before he was opened and consumed. A firm hand on the back of his neck held him still for it, and Mal kissed him as though he were dying and they shared this final moment. It was demanding, just soft enough to pull a sound from his chest, and then it wasn’t anymore. There was no air, no reprieve, no opportunity to outwit him, and Simon had never been dumbfounded by a kiss before, but Mal was just…

Also, in need of oxygen, apparently, he pulled back and Simon felt his own words more than heard them.  “ _Gèng zhòngyào de shì, nǐ bìxū gěi wǒ gèng duō_ …”

More of that, you have to give me more of that, “-- _Mal_.”

A firm hand clamped over his mouth, and he felt the shake in it, the look on Mal’s face warning enough that yes, he was pushing every limit the man had. Simon closed his eyes, focused on breathing, trying to regain himself, because Mal was right, they didn’t have _time_ to take this further.  No matter how badly they wanted to, and god, Simon hadn’t known arousal could be painful.

It seemed like forever, hung there, forbidden to speak and heart roaring in his ears, but eventually Mal cleared his throat and brushed a hand over his face to compose himself. He let Simon go, and the doctor inhaled unsteadily, leaning to rest his forehead on the captain’s shoulder. There were warm hands on his back again, tracing over the marks left by his nails and Simon shivered.

“I liked that too. For the record. Consider it an open invitation.”

“I think we understand each other.” Mal intoned, his hands settling on the small of Simon’s back. “I trust you’ll tell me if I push too hard.”

“Mal, I asked you to punch me in the face.” Simon laughed, pulling back to rake his damp hair out of his eyes. “Push me.”

Watching that fire catch all over again was beautiful, and this time Mal didn’t let him up for air until the proximity warning went off as they approached the ship.


	11. Hammock Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around, been doing the holiday dance with the family. Hoping to get back to it later tonight!

As they settled into the dock on Serenity’s starboard wing, Simon tucked his shirt in unsteadily, running a hand through his hair. Mal glanced back just in time to catch this motion and grinned, “Oh, no, doctor, we are humped. Let’s just hope everyone is already drunk.”

They’d agreed when the alarm went off that they wouldn’t make a deal out of this. If the crew noticed, the crew noticed, they weren’t hiding, and they weren’t...announcing, either. Simon had lay there breathless under Mal’s open collar, kissing his throat while they quietly made bets as to who would pick up on it first. Kaylee, because Simon intended to tell her. He couldn’t let her discover this, intuitively or literally, she’d been too good to him to deserve that. Zoe and Inara, then Wash...Book and Jayne. River, they figured, already knew.

Simon had groaned when Mal got his knees, straddling his hips as he looked him over. He’d been lying there long enough that the cool steel floor wasn’t cold anymore. He had soreness in assorted places that he knew would bruise, confirmed when Mal pressed his fingers to them curiously. The captain looked smug. Simon cocked an eyebrow, lacing his hands behind his head. “You should go land this ship, captain.” 

Mal’s smirk only deepened. “You get sassy when you think you’ve won something.”

“What do I win?” Simon had asked, looking around for his shirt. The answer was a deeper bite mark on his shoulder, and that had been wholly unfair, because the medic bag strap was the only way to cover it.

Simon tried to school his features into something neutral as the door slid open and Jayne appeared, eyes immediately on the thermal bags. The doctor let him take his share, muttering something about putting his tools away as he made his escape down the stairs to the infirmary.

A soft jingling sound, barely there, got his attention, and he paused to look up. Inara’s delicately arched brow said everything, her golden bracelets sliding back into place as she smiled from the catwalk. He realized she could see it. The marks, the color in his cheeks, the state of his hair and _of course_ she would recognize these signs. Ten steps off the shuttle, and he was winning his bet. He just smiled brilliantly at her, white teeth and bright eyes, and ducked away as he heard Mal’s boots overhead. Let him take the brunt of her curiosity.

River was waiting for him in his room and all but squealed as she jumped up to throw her arms around his neck. “There you are! All of you! Look! I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“It’s only...Oh.” He started to say hours, but realized she probably meant more like five years since she’d seen him like this. He felt limber, fluid in a way that was out of place in his recent memory. Her eyes were alight with mischief, yanking the bag off his shoulder to inspect the mark. “Easy, will you?"

“I knew it! You listened!” She clapped her hands and spun away, planting herself on his bed. “It’s a good day, we can all feel it. There’s beer upstairs.”

He frowned turning back to her. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I _will_.” She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him. “Tell me.”

“No."

“Tell me.” She said warning, and her glee won him over rolling his eyes as he locked the door and stripped his shirt off.

Her jaw dropped, and he laughed.

“ _Yěshòu_ !” She marvelled. The captain _was_ a beast, but in the best way, Simon thought smugly, thumbing through the closet for something that counted as real clothing in his book.

Something with a collar, perhaps.

XXXX

“Kaylee.”

She hadn’t heard him. He tried again, taking a deep breath. “Kaylee...Kaylee, _Kaylee_.”

There, a slight pause, and then he could barely see the top of her head over the bulk of the engine. He grinned. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“I need to...tell you, something, come here.”

“What?” She asked curiously, then huffed when he only waved her closer. “ _What_ , Simon?”

“Is it going to blow up if you leave it alone?” He asked, suddenly cautious. She shook her head, and her chin started to dip back into her project and he sat up sharply enough that he almost tipped the hammock over. “I’m serious, come here.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile as she rounded the engine, but her expression became suddenly wary when he waved her closer. Simon insisted, until she made a small attempt at cleaning her hands on the rag hanging out of her coveralls and stalked closer.

He reached up and grabbed her around the middle, pulling her into the hammock with him.

“Simon!”

“Shhhh, just….hush. This is a hammock talk.”

“Uh oh.” She twisted a little, and he caught a sharp little elbow as she propped herself up curiously and looked down at him. “Don’t look too serious, for a hammock talk.”

“Just...hang on.” He was still more than a little drunk, and hoped she wouldn’t fault him for his liquid courage. “I might have…”

“Spit it out, goose. Ya might have what?”

“...I mighta kissed the captain.”

Stone silence, silence that he wanted to rush in and fill with his rambling, but he found some spare pocket of strength in the corner of his mind and waited, blinking big blue eyes at her in the hopes that it made him look...like less of an asshole, he supposed, he didn’t know.

“Oh, this...is a hammock talk for sure.” She was decidedly neutral, and something slick turned over in his stomach at the thought of Kaylee mad at him. River had assured him she wouldn’t be, but they’d done this dance for months, and he was far too drunk to be nimble with her feelings at the moment. Maybe the liquid courage hadn’t been the best plan after all.

“I’m sorry.” He started, frozen in place, suddenly hyper aware of how close they were and how she might have mistaken this for something else. A different hammock talk.

She froze him out for another thirty seconds before she thumped his nose. “Nah, I’m over it. Dish.”

“Dish?” Did he have to...Oh, he was...she was asking him for details. Right. She was grinning, watching with a sly look. “Oh, dish.”

“It wasn’t your idea.” She intuited, and there was another pause while she sorted through it without him, but her grin remained. “Cap’n is sly. Really?”

“I...yes.” Simon just nodded dumbly, refusing to backtrack in light of his good luck. No, of her forgiveness. He wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her tightly, daring to smile himself. “Yes, very much.”

“Oh?” She sounded as though there were more questions, but when he tried to put his hand over her mouth, he missed and sort of...pawed gently at her whole face. She laughed and knocked his hand away. “Sounds like you had a very productive day off-ship, doctor.”

“It was his idea.” Simon huffed, not quite defensive. She wriggled away and he groaned as the hammock swung in her absence, the engine room spinning. It was only when he set a hand out to steady it that he looked up for the first time and his breath caught.

Sprawled across the metal, running the full length of the hammock, was a spray of flowers. There were thin lead sketches trailing out that showed River’s intent to cover the entire ceiling, but the heart of the work was rich and vibrant. He picked out his sister’s favorites immediately, interspersed with a few he didn’t recognize that spoke of tree blossoms and tall grasses. He must have shown his wonder on his face, because Kaylee leaned over him smugly, gesturing with her favorite wrench. “So did your sister.”


	12. Tidy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DOMESTICITY, bitches, I love me some space domesticity. They could create an entire show around just living on Serenity with these people, focused on this crew, and I'd pay to watch it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys, I love to hear from you!

 

They all had spaces, areas of the ship that fell under their purview to tidy and maintain. Simon had never seen these assigned, per se, but it was some sort of unspoken agreement reinforced by Mal’s pointed looks. Zoe tended to the shuttles and the common area outside the infirmary where she liked to read. Jayne and Mal usually kept the cargo area squared away, the captain in the name of keeping inventory. Jayne, despite his temper and impulsive nature, hated clutter. He couldn’t abide having things spread out when there was no need. It riled the mercenary to no end when he opened Simon’s medical cabinets and saw wasted space, everything aligned and neat. 

Simon had explained it was similar to keeping all of his knives in one single pocket, and that seemed to get through to him. He stopped condensing the medical supplies, at least. Wash tended the cockpit and its assorted tools and toys. Kaylee ruled the engine room. Inara had rearranged the kitchen storage through sheer persistence, and Simon had only seen her shuttle in passing when fetching River for the night, but it was hard to believe that it was identical to the other. The fabrics created false walls, behind which he knew storage existed, but unseen. And it smelled lovely. Less grease and ozone and more rich incense and myrrh. 

For some reason, planet side, the last day on hard ground inspired everyone to clean. It was infectious, and if they weren’t fleeing local crime or law, something as simple as folding a towel could set it off. The natural industry of the day became absolutely routine by the second month on the ship. Even Book took it upon himself to clean the showers. 

It was, actually, a towel that started this round. Right after breakfast, both hands full of bowls collected from the crew members who were mulling over their last checklists of needs on Persephone, Simon happened past the clothes chute. Jayne’s towel had missed, hanging slightly out of the open sanitizer. The doctor set the dishes down, gave them a quick rinse, eyeing the blue fabric in the quiet way one does before laying hands on an item. 

Before he could reach it, Jayne was there, picking it up. Setting it with the other clothes in the machine. He hesitated, then reached up and pushed the button. Refilled his tea mug and leaned on the counter. 

A small stream of dishes filed over the counter, and Simon wordlessly emptied the sink into the washer, not begrudging the task at all. He hadn’t had to cook today. The crew chatted, Kaylee hopping up on the counter, telling Zoe about a scrap yard nearby. Wash doled out the last of the tea and coffee and rinsed the two pots, hanging them overhead. The sanitizer rumbled on in the background until it finished its cycle, and everyone lingered in the room, relishing the company and the slow start to the morning. 

When it stopped, there was a pregnant pause. Jayne just drained his cup, biting his cheek with a sigh. “Well…”

Let’s get on with it. It didn’t need saying, not really. He opened the machine and brusquely began folding the clothes inside, Kayle lingering long enough to grab her stack of shirts and few towels. Jayne pulled a pocket knife out of the bottom of the machine and shook his head at himself, throwing his jeans over a shoulder. River nudged Simon aside to start the dishwasher, and everyone dispersed. 

Simon rolled his sleeves to the elbow as he descended to the infirmary. He donned the short mylar apron he used for cleaning, the gloves with elastic that extended over his forearms, and pulled out the bin of spray bottles and disposable rags he kept under the counter. He’d sprayed every surface with disinfectant before he thought to turn on the vent, and his eyes watered at the acrid smell. Clean equated to safety. Book ducked in with a rag over his mouth and nose and snagged a bottle with a short wave, disappearing down the guest quarters hall with it. 

Scrubbing was easy. Back and forth, no real dust to be removed, but he had to be sure that every surface was touched before he was done. He tossed his towels into the sink as he worked, knowing that Zoe would be by with a hamper when she was done with her inspection. He fell into his routine with calculated patience and tried his very best not to think about Mal’s hands.

XXXX

It was hours later when he finally looked up, rolling his neck to stretch it with a satisfied sigh. He’d heard the mule fire up and conversation in the cargo area and decided he’d better focus on something else before the daylight was gone. Simon stripped out of his cleaning gear and tucked everything away, killing the vent as he looked over the room. It was shiny...literally, every surface reflective after the attention. 

He felt a touch at his elbow and turned to find Kaylee leaning in the door, “Hey doc. ...Wow, I almost don’t want to come in here.” 

“It’s fine, are you headed into town? I heard the mule.”

“Oh, no, just got back actually.” She beamed at him and handed him a small black bag. “I found a shop and thought of you. I mean, I was shopping for myself, but...you know...” 

Simon smiled in confusion, turning the bag over in his hand. When he peeked inside, his jaw dropped, a dark flush creeping from his collar as he hissed, “ _ Kaylee _ Winnet-Frye, what--”

She just laughed, punching him in the arm. “Oh come on, Simon. Where else were you gonna get it? Or what else could you  _ use _ , even? ‘Nara needed some things, so did I, and I thought I might as well, or you never would.”

“Kaylee...I don’t need lubricant, we just…” Simon lowered his voice, glancing out the infirmary window at the stairs. “We just kissed. It’s not--”   


“It will be.” She cut in smoothly, leaning on the door and looking far too proud of herself. “Listen, doc, Mal’s got the record on ship for celibacy.”

Simon deadpanned, “I doubt it, I’m at three years.” 

“He’s at  _ eight _ .” 

...He wondered how she knew that, wondered how the man was still sane, how on earth he was supposed to bridge an eight, year, streak, fucking….fuck, he rubbed his eyes with a deep breath. 

“Don’t think so much.” Kaylee poked him in the forehead. “You’ll spoil it. Ya said it was his idea, let him do the thinking. Mal’s got a way of makin’ things happen, and I just...wanted to make sure you knew we was square, alright?”

“I...yeah.” Simon started and failed, again, just amazed by the personified sunshine he’d found out here in the darkest corners of the universe. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I’ll be happy to see you get wrecked, doc.” She flashed a brilliant smile and spun on heel. “I reckon’ he’s gonna eat you alive.”

XXXX

The day did not end as smoothly as Simon would have hoped. The smell of the cleaning agents on his clothes sent River into hysterics, and he’d had to carry her away from the dinner table with Kaylee close behind holding her hand. He’d changed before ducking into her room with her nighttime medications, but it only did so much. She was tucked into Kaylee’s lap and chanting about the clinical light in the infirmary, and when he pulled her arm free for the shot, she looked but didn’t see him. It cut him to the quick. Things had been so good lately. He hadn’t forgotten, but he’d been able to push this into a neat little box to be dealt with later, when they had more time. 

There never seemed to be enough time. Kaylee teared up, and refused to leave her, holding the taller girl deep against her shoulder and petting her hair. River needed that, more than she needed a doctor right now, and she wasn’t close enough for Simon to reach her. He swallowed, nodding his thanks and left them, hoping privately that Kaylee would stay the night. He made his way back to the mess hall and threw his work clothes into the sanitizer with more force than perhaps was necessary. 

He lingered at the table long after the others drifted off to their rooms. Inara always retired first for prayer, followed by Book, and he’d felt Zoe’s fingers trail across his tight shoulders consolingly as she and Wash turned in for the night. Mal was on the late shift in the cockpit, had slept through dinner to prepare for it. Simon told himself that he wasn’t waiting up just to see him, but that was probably a lie. River would know for sure, he thought with a smile. The bottle Kaylee bought him was hidden safely in his room, and he grinned at the wood under his elbows as he thought about it. Thought hard about it. Three years and eight….

He frowned when he realized that would put Mal’s last encounter somewhere right in the middle of the war. 

So...Simon would not be asking about that.

He knew he should go to bed instead of sitting here picking at his meal, but there were too many thoughts. His ears rung as though a low-grade static had suddenly found max volume and he couldn’t turn it down again. Part of that was River, he was sure. Projecting because keeping it inside would make it worse. Sometimes she projected so hard that she actually threw up, he hoped it wouldn’t get that bad tonight. Jayne woke up long enough to storm the cabinets for hand-sized snacks and made his way back to his bunk without a word. Simon marvelled he could be that loud barefoot. 

He glanced up when the captain’s bunk hissed open and heavy steps came up the ladder. Wash was already in his small clothes, a well-loved robe hanging from his shoulders as he adjusted their course a hair and chatted with Mal about nothing. Simon saw his bermuda shorts on the steps and the goodnight wave he offered before swinging onto his own ladder. The lights around Kaylee’s door were dark. 

After a moment, he sighed, pushing himself up from the table to start a pot of coffee. The smell drew Mal from the bridge, he heard him coming before he saw him and still jumped when the captain appeared in the door. 

He looked immediately concerned. “Up late, doc.”

“River.” Simon said simply, but without blame. Mal nodded once and made his way down, pulling two mugs out of the cabinet. They both watched the pot boil. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a t-shirt.” 

“Well, captain, you tore what I considered my leisure clothes and I’m not going to sleep anytime soon, so…” Simon shrugged. “Zoe picked up a set for me when they went out today.”

The captain just grunted, pouring their cups. “What’s up with Mei-Mei?”

“I, uh…” He started, stopped, blinked hard at the steam coming from his mug and tried again. “I cleaned the infirmary today and...the smell, I think, is what did it. She panicked.” 

“That’s a very particular smell.” Mal answered easily, nodding him along. “Come on, I gotta fly tonight. Debris field for the next few.”

Simon nodded, following the man through the hall and remarking, “Kaylee is with her, tonight. She’s really good with her.” 

“They’re not quite of an age, but close.” Mal settled into the pilot’s chair and waved him over to the copilot, watching him curl into it. “I think it’s a good thing she’s got company. Outside of you, I mean. You wear a lot of hats for her anyway, she deserves some simple company.”

“...I agree, now that we’re staying here. To be honest, I was more than a little worried that she wouldn’t be able to...connect, again. Outside of me.” 

“A mind like that is hard to cage, I’d imagine.” 

Simon rested against the arm of the chair, shoulders dropping just a hint as he thought about it. “It really is good for her. She’s still in there, she’s just...faceted, now. In ways that I don’t understand. Like someone took a natural diamond and cut it poorly. The last few weeks have been better, but it’s just such a balancing act.” 

Mal nodded, listening. It felt good to be heard. He continued, looking out the windows at the stars and the bits of stone and ice drifting by. “I have faith she’ll come around, but it will be a long time before she’s whole again.” 

“You’ll get her there. Just keep her from killing us in the meantime.” 

Simon felt himself smile and shook his head. “I’ll try.”

“Zoe should buy you more shirts.” Mal offered, and Simon  turned back in surprise. He glanced down at the simple cotton fabric, dark blue and without a logo or design on it. 

He shrugged gently, “It was bound to happen eventually. Especially if I intend to keep working planet-side.” 

“I don’t know how often I can promise that kind of work, Simon. It paid well, though. Definitely something to keep in mind when we’re in from the border planets.” 

Simon watching his profile as he drank his coffee, humor curling the corner of his mouth. “So...Kaylee went shopping too.”

“Did she get the paints?” Mal asked, and Simon was slightly taken aback back that. The captain turned to look at him when he didn’t answer, brow furrowing. “What? River paints. She get the wrong kind?”

“...No, I didn’t know she’d...that’s not what she gave me.” Simon was smiling in earnest now, but cleared his throat, peering back out the window. “She got a bottle of slick.”

“That’s not so odd, it’s practically on the staples list with this crew.” Mal chuckled, adjusting their speed slightly to let Serenity navigate around--”Wait.”

There it was. Simon smirked into his cup. 

“Wait, she gave  _ you  _ a bottle of slick.” Mal stated more than asked, and Simon nodded once. “Ohhh.” 

“I told her the night we were drinking, she took it well.” 

“Apparently. She bought…Huh.” Mal stared straight out the window, but Simon could hear the warmth in his voice when he muttered. “Well, that’s a thing I know now.” 

 


	13. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, plot happened. Like, exploded really. It's everywhere. Fuckin' mess, to be honest. 
> 
> So much for my indulgence fic.
> 
> This chapter is 90% dialogue, btw, I'm so sorry.

Simon was dozing despite himself, listening to the gentle sound tiny pebbles on the bridge’s windows and Serenity’s hull. They were going slowly enough, it reminded him of the rain on Ariel. He pushed his empty mug onto the copilot’s workspace, resting his head on his hand. The conversation had drifted, and for a while, there was only the stones and the occasional click or whir of Mal adjusting something on the control panel. A half hour into his nap, he blinked awake, unsure as to why, and found Mal watching him quietly. The captain didn’t speak, just leaned with his ankles crossed at the floor, hands laced on his chest and expression neutral. Simon almost worked up words on that, but his eyelids were too heavy. Perhaps he’d been snoring. 

The second time he woke was to a persistent beep from the cortex screen. Mal frowned and leaned forward, waving him to silence before answering. 

“Badger.”

“Captain Reynolds, apologies on the late hour.” Simon’s nose curled at the sound of his voice, but he didn’t move, watching the stars again. 

“Something I can help you with?” 

“Could be. I’ll be quick, the sun’s coming up here. That doctor still flying with you?” 

“Yeah, we’re running him out to the colony on Sandor, why?”

“...I need to talk to him about one the patients he saw for me.” Badger hedged, and it woke Simon a little more to hear the man’s nerves. He’d wager there wasn’t much that could make a man like Badger nervous.

Mal must have thought the same. “...Again, why?” 

“It’s...complicated.” Badger started. “Alliance complicated.”

“Sounds like the kind of complicated I ain’t interested in.” 

“I’ll pay him. Never met a medic with a bad memory, it’ll just a take a sec.” Badger threw out quickly, and Simon sat up finally, resting his feet on the floor. “Wake him up if you have to.” 

“Badger.” Mal said bluntly, annoyed.

“ _ Gorramn _ it, Mal, one of them was his son. Admiral Shun Yi Lang. Wanker sold himself under false ID, and I’m gonna have a full fucking contingent here in a few hours, asking questions. I just need to know where I sent him.”

“All legal, I thought.” 

“Yeah, on paper. Man’s a bit twitchy, you’ll understand.” Badger paused. “There’s twenty plat innit for the doctor if he can tell me when he saw him.”

Mal and Simon both blanched, the captain sitting back in his seat. That was enough money to  float the ship for half a year, no problem. Badger scoffed at his expression, “What, you think I do this for lunch money, Captain? I need to get in front of this.” 

“Slinging cash like that for an ID, you can bet my rates just went up.” Mal sniped, staring at some point beyond Serenity’s hull for a moment. “The first one. First patient. Had a set of dogtags on, told us he deserted.” 

Badger swore, and they heard the rustle of papers through the comm. Mal risked a glance in his direction and Simon nodded to confirm he was right...he remembered the man’s face. 

“This him?” He forwarded the image to the screen and Mal nodded. More swearing. Badger chewed the edge of his finger for a minute, thinking wildly. “Reynolds, I am well and truly humped.” 

“Right….I’m gonna hang up now, Badger.” 

“Wait!” That was close to true panic.  

“Whatever is about to come out of your mouth is going to cost you 250 plat up front.” 

“Done.”

Simon’s blood ran cold at the ease of which he dropped that word. He stood, and Mal looked at him for a long moment. 

“Reynolds.” Badger started, rushing now, “ _ Reynolds _ , I can handle this end. I can stall, bring in the doctor that holds the real license. He won’t know about the tags, can’t pick the man out of a line-up. It will buy me some time. I sold 2,000 people.”

“If they caught up this quickly, they’re not going to need the last month’s--”   


“Week, Reynolds.” Badger cut in. “Last week. 2,000 people.” 

“...Lunch money, you _māmā piány_ i\---” 

“We’ll do it.” Simon cut in, with a finality. Mal gave him a look that could burn water. “You’re going to ask us to track him down, right?”

“I am. I know where I sent him.” Badger continued, completely glossing over the fact that ‘Jacob’ had been present for the entire conversation. “Alliance isn’t going to look much deeper than this. It’s personal, for the Admiral, that’s all. He can’t use government resources for personal affairs. Not legal. Reynolds, this is up your alley, yeah?” 

Mal rested his elbows on his knees. “Where’d you send him, Badger?”

“A moon off Athens Proper.” 

Mal sighed through his nose, and reached over to kill Serenity’s forward momentum. “I want 600, all told.” 

“....I’ll have it by the time you’re done.” 

“...We’re looking at a week, maybe more.” 

“...I’ll take that under consideration when I talk to the Admiral. I have to go prep for the entourage. I’ll drop the 250 now, and forward you some documentation. Get back to me with the plan.” 

The comm went dark without another word. Simon took a deep breath and collected both of their mugs. “I’ll make some more coffee.” 

XXXX

Mal had the tablet in hand when he returned to the table. Simon picked their coffee up in one fist and then on a whim, grabbed the deck of cards out of the drawer. The captain distractedly pulled the coffee closer but seemed to forget about it as he read through the paperwork. From what Simon could see over his shoulder, there was a copy of the medical record he’d created and then the contract itself. Simon let him read, shuffling the deck as he tried not to think too much. Six hundred platinum was twice his family’s fortune on a good year. It could have built have a hospital from the ground up and staffed it for the first year. It was...a stupid amount of money. 

He felt guilty for accepting the job. Especially something tainted with the Alliance, but it’d seemed...too good to pass up. And if Mal had taught him anything in the past year, it was those things often were. He sipped his coffee and tried to recall Athens Proper, and what he knew of it. It wasn’t quite inner circle, perhaps the first tier out. Suburban, to an extent. Terraformed enough to be green and raise livestock. In fact, that was really all he recalled of it, was the livestock. His father had taken him along to a horseshow when he was young, and he remembered the brand. Two columns surrounding an A. 

He flipped his cards over to inspect them and frowned at his self-dealt hand. Tried again. Ran out of coffee. When he returned to the table, Mal slid the tablet over to him without a word and raked the cards over. Simon watched him shuffle with a practiced hand, and it surprised him, because he knew the cards had been here before Jayne, but he’d always assumed they were Zoe’s.

He took the glass and started scrolling, shoving his tiredness to the back of his mind. Mal was already deep in thought, and the rhythmic click and shuffle seemed to echo his working mind. The medical report he glossed over, he remembered most of it. The contract however, was...extensive. It contained explicit wording about what happened to the servant should the contract holder die during their service. Even a subsection about duelling, and Simon sneered at that...Persephone’s traditions were somewhat antiquated, but that’s why people chose to live there. 

The more he read, the more that slick feeling pervaded his stomach. This was abhorrent, at its core, no matter how they dressed it. Simon’s education was extensive and he still caught himself reading and rereading certain sections to make sure he took their meaning correctly. He could only wonder how many people went glassy-eyed and just signed these years away without proper representation of the terms. 

It was one thing his father had never tolerated. He lived in the inner circle, had more than enough money to afford the kind of ‘service’ listed here, but he staunchly refused. As a lawyer, he was worth more than a few federal officials, and yet they’d lived in a small, but lavish house. His father’s vice was the acreage. He didn’t mind tending the house himself if he had enough room around him. They’d been the talk of the neighborhood when the construction dust settled, but it’d been a family home. As long as that lasted.

He would never have invested in the sort of house that required a staff. He paid the gardeners a fair wage. Simon knew that without asking. He shoved the tablet away as he finished with a heavy sigh. “I have...pieces of a plan.”

“As do I.” Mal answered, and dealt him a hand of cards. They played for few minutes, Simon won more often than he lost. After the fifth hand, Mal cleared his throat. “The moon is a slave warehouse.” 

Simon’s hands stilled over the cards. He lost with two plums. “I thought we were dealing with Indenture.”

“It starts that way.” Mal did not quite shrug, dealing again. “You caught that section about debts incurred during service?”

“I did.” Simon lost again, shoving the cards away with a sour taste in his mouth as comprehension dawned. “They trap people.”

“Yep.” Mal picked his cards up, tapping them straight. 

“I shouldn’t have accepted the job that quickly.” Simon offered gently, watching Mal’s expression.

“Nope.” Mal said simply, shuffling. “But...We’re not going to get a deal like this again. Between the nine of us, it’s not quite retirement money, but...pretty damn close.”

Simon did the math, then frowned. “...You’re including River?”

“I thought to, yes. And Inara and Book. Standard 5% from everyone to the ship is still three year’s worth of flight. Or one major engine overhaul, to hear Kaylee talk.” 

The doctor grinned. “That’s...life changing money.” 

“Or the continuation of the current life, indefinitely, with the added bonus of no more risky jobs we don’t need.” 

“That sounds like breathing room.” Simon muttered into his cup, watching the captain sort it through. “I still should have--”   


“I’d have taken it Simon. Question is now...how do we do this?”

“Athens is known for its livestock...I could pose as a vet.” Simon hedged, but a short laugh from Mal stopped him. 

“Used to be….lately all of their livestock is the human variety. A shame too, they had some fine horses for a long time.” Mal shrugged that off. “But, we could run the doctor ruse again. Last time I was there, this ranch housed about a thousand people.” 

“You’ve been there?”

“I’d rather not talk on it much.” Mal evaded, and Simon didn’t press. There was a shadow on the captain’s face that he didn’t like. 

“Well...let’s play to our strengths.” Simon dealt, turning his cards over. “You’ve got 250 plat in working money. Tell him you’re looking to trade.”

“I don’t think I could pull that off.” 

“Well, I doubt he has a lot of armed robbery jobs needing done, captain.” Simon said with a smile. 

“They’re in the business of making people fall off the map anyway, Simon, I’m not sure flashing our bank account is the safest way to get in.”

“We’re in a transport vessel. Let’s transport something.” 

“That did cross my mind, but we’d need an excuse to know about that work. Maybe Badger can oblige.” 

“A thousand people need a doctor. Maybe more than one.” Simon thought about it for a moment. “Maybe the sheer number is our excuse to stay.” 

“I don’t like how much of this is relying on Badger.” 

“You should contract me.” 

“...I should what now?”

“I’m serious. There’s a subletting clause in there too. It would allow me to work without risking the entrapment.” Simon shrugged, pointing out. “And, if I’m working, I’m a lot more likely to find our guy than you are. Badger can set that up too. He owes us. He asked about our plan.”

“Badger is one of those need-to-know types, as far as I’m concerned.” Mal braced his elbows on the table thoughtfully. “So that gets us on, how do we get out?” 

“If at all possible, I’d rather River never set foot on that dirt.”

“I’d rather it not be in my ship’s logs at all, but I may be able to swing that...the shuttles can break atmo. Small enough company, we can leave Serenity in orbit.”

“What if we put Zoe and Jayne in camp on the outskirts?”

“Maybe, if we can’t find legitimate reason to bring them along.” Mal pushed back from the table with a sigh. “I don’t have enough information. Let’s see how Badger holds up to his interrogation before we start making decisions. Get Zoe on board. That’s gonna be a talk.” 

“Oh, she…” Simon started, catching himself. “She usually does this with you. I’m sorry.”

“No, actually…. She very purposefully doesn’t. So when I get it put together, she can pick it apart.” Mal gave him a half smile. “Kinda nice to think out loud, honestly. I’ll finish it though. Your criminal instinct leaves a little to be desired.”

“I think I do well enough.” Simon feigned indignation. “It’s my survival instinct that I should work on.” 

He stood quietly, gathering the cards up and sliding the tablet back into Mal’s reach. As he started to turn away, he stopped, considering….leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to the captain’s mouth. Quick and quiet, an offering, not a request.

Mal blinked at him as he pulled back. “Did I earn that?”

“Nope.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So, with the advent of plot, I think I can pin my canon divergence to...post Trash, and pre Niska-revenge. Whatever episodes those are. 
> 
> My reasoning includes that anyone who grew up with a psychic would not outright deny it like Simon did in the last episode, and River is not weapony until put into weapon circumstances. Dangerous? Unhinged? Absolutely. But for me, she's more Albatross than Dancy-Murder-Girl. 
> 
> Maybe there will be Dancy-murder-girl later, I haven't decided. 
> 
> Anywho. To Scheming.

“Captain, you want to explain to me why we’re suddenly rich?” Zoe voice was distracted, sipping her tea over the tablet as she swayed away from the counter. Simon could see the cortex financial link open on the screen and pursed his lips, watching. 

“We’re rich? How rich are we?” Jayne’s head whipped from Zoe to Mal, “Why are we rich?”

“Job to be done.” Mal said musingly, tucking away the last of his faux egg protein scramble. 

“...Sir, this says plat.” Zoe showed him the screen. “That some kind of mistake?”

“We will never call that a mistake.”

“Shut up, Jayne. No, Zoe, that’s the upfront.” 

There was stunned silence around the breakfast table. It was Jayne who dared to look excited, leaning over the table conspiratorially. “If that’s the upfront, what’s the take?”

“600, all in. Job’s from Badger...for the doctor.” 

More silence, followed by heads turning one by one to look at Simon, who hid behind his tea. 

“...What, is he assassinating the Prime Minister?” Wash broke it, the picture of skepticism. 

“We have a Prime Minister?”

“Shut. Up. Jayne.” Mal bit off around his food, waving his fork as he swallowed and continued. “As all of you know, Badger recently got into brokering poor folk around the system. Business has apparently been good, until this past week.”

“Did he  _ sell  _ the Prime Minister?” Wash interrupted again, picking up his tea and then setting it down again without drinking. “Why? What happened to low profile?”

Simon finally spoke up, if only so Mal would have a chance to actually finish his breakfast. He hated it when the captain tried to talk between bites. “Badger sold the son of an Admiral to a slave warehouse off Athens Proper. The son presented false ID, and I treated him and signed off on it. Badger called last night.”

“We’re going to gloss over the part where you were awake for that--”

“--We were playing poker.” Mal muttered.

“--And get to the part where Badger pays us four times our career salary to date.” Zoe finished, raising an eyebrow. Simon swallowed unconsciously, because the woman really could bring all of that level-headed cool to bear when she wanted to. Even Wash leaned back a bit under that look, clearing her line of sight to the doctor.

“I...told him we’d go get him.” Simon said cautiously, staring at the scraps of leaf in his cup. “He put the money up front, we didn’t even have to negotiate.”

“So, how you do know he’s good for it?” Zoe asked pointedly.

“We’re sitting on 250 large, even if he isn’t, that’s...a very expensive lie, isn’t it?”

“Say this is Fed money, put up to bring you and little sister back on the radar?”

“...Simon Tam hasn’t existed, officially, for over three years, outside the warrants. Our last warrant update was only eighty thousand credits, that’s...what? Around a 3000% increase on the offer that’s stood for the last two years? Just for the deposit.” Simon offered, schooling himself not to sound defensive. He had no reason to be. “ I don’t see that getting through the upper level bureaucracy, ever.”

“And this just happens to come up on your first off-ship job?”

“The work I did for Badger was under alias with the legitimate licensee taking the interrogation to buy us time. There’s no record of anyone other than ‘Jacob’ on all of Persephone’s logs, and Mal swiped his card at the nearby bar while the rest of you were buying supplies in town. On paper, it looks like the captain slipped off for drinks and to get dinner by himself. I wore a face mask the entire time I was working. Aside from these arresting blue eyes, I’m anonymous.”

Zoe’s shoulders dropped a little, letting him off the hook as Wash broke into a laugh. “Alright...Alright, this doesn’t sit well with me, on the record.” 

Mal pushed his plate away, and Simon thought there was something grateful in his expression now that he’d had a chance to finish his meal. “I’ve never seen Badger shake before. They call him that for a reason, he’s a resilient little bastard. If the money hadn’t come through, I’d doubt it, but he was scared when he called. He’s just got into this game, something like this brings a lot of unwanted attention to a fledgling brokerage.” 

“...How hard is it to start a brokerage?”

“Jayne. You can’t live on my boat and sell people.”  The mercenary pouted, elbows on the table. Mal continued, “I did some thinking on it, and there’s word from Badger on a few details this morning that filled in some gaps for the plan. I can already tell you that no one, myself included, is going to actually like this plan.”

Zoe draped her arms over Wash’s shoulders, muttering, “Auspicious start to the caper of our lives.”

“Give me that.” Mal muttered, snatching the tablet from her and bringing up something on the screen. “So...settle in. Jayne, Inara needs a chair. Kaylee, River, you’re fine over there, I’m hoping I won’t need you much.”

The mercenary rousted himself with a grumble to refill his tea, but brought the pot over in a rare show of continuous thought. Mal slid the tablet over to Zoe as she claimed her seat next to him and started scrolling. “Ambassador.” 

Inara rolled her eyes. “Yes?”

“You own us.” 

For all her dissembling, Inara shook her head slightly, “ _ What _ ?”

“That’s our in.” Mal supplemented, pointing at the tablet. “That there’s a contract for two years for myself and Simon, as your esteemed indentured servants. My thinking is that you’re coming along with a mind to look over the current selection of inventory for people that might useful to you. Staffing a house you’ve just purchased, wherever you feel like lying about and can speak convincingly on. Simon is on as your personal physician under another license from Badger and I’m going to manage your estate.”

“My  _ estate _ .” Inara repeated, skeptical.

“Yep. City girl looking to retire somewhere green. With horses.” 

Jayne snorted, reading over Zoe’s shoulder. “Horses, plural. She musta slept with the Prime Minister.” 

“Mhm. And you and Zoe work for me. I’ll get you set up in the stable quarters once we make landfall.” 

“You’re expecting me to keep this charade up how long?”

“Not long...three days, maybe four, then you’ll make your graceful exit and entrust the final...purchasing to us.” Mal crossed his arms on the table. “Now, that accomplishes several things. Puts me and Simon on the land with some financial backing, courtesy of that deposit, and your companion status should get us the royal treatment. They’ll put us up in the plantation house. I need Zoe and Jayne down amongst the people with an ear to the ground. Once we’re there...we gotta find a reason to stay.”

“That’s my role, I think.” Simon piped up, refilling his tea. “I’ll have to think of a way to offer my services to the plantation, perhaps renew everyone’s health paperwork.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find a reason. A disposable physician has a whole list of skills that the ranch could use.”

“So, we’re in primarily as support.” Zoe agreed, passing the tablet to Wash. “And the doctor starts working through patients. Between the three of us, we get a bead on our guy, then what?”

“...Then...we...take him. Somehow.” 

“...Ah.” Zoe rested her face in her hands. “You were doing so well, sir.”

“Buy him, most like.” Mal answered, frowning. “He spent his doctor trip very pointedly not looking at us, so I think a haircut and nicer clothes for me, Simon’s bare face...likely won’t recognize us from the brokerage.” 

“Likely...and if he does?” Zoe pressed. 

“...Then I’ll knock him out, you’ll put him on a mule and we’ll make off.” Mal protested, raking a hand through his hair. “Getting in was the hard part, I think we have enough money at our disposal that we can talk our way out without a fight.”

“If it comes to a fight? Where’s Serenity in all this?” Kaylee called from the alcove, River dozing against her shoulder.

“In orbit, with the rest of you. Now, the less savory side of all of this is our initial excuse to get in. We’ll be picking up a small company of new Indentures from Badger, as well as some supplies we’re generously donating to the ranch for the inconvenience of our visit.”

“Supplies like...fine whiskey, hard foodstuffs. A water purifier.” Wash read off from the list, raising an eyebrow. “Honey, want to retire to a brokerage?”

“I will end you, not just divorce you.”

“Yes, dear.”

“So...iffen I were to sign this ‘fore Inara does, that mean you two belong to me?”

“Jayne!” The resounding chorus from the table made the mercenary grin. “Worth a shot. I’m in so far, that’s stupid good money to tend a few horses and act like I’m not listening.”

“We’ll check in with Serenity once a week while we’re working. I figure if we contract with Badger to bring people over regularly, that’s good enough excuse to regroup as needed.” 

“...I don’t like that.” Kaylee said, frowning. “Serenity ain’t a passenger ship, and for slaves? It’s beneath her.”

“It’s beneath everyone involved, slaves included. I don’t like it anymore myself, I promise. The idea of a herd of strangers moving through here makes me twitchy.” Mal sighed, taking the tablet back from Wash and passing it to Inara. “If you’re amenable to our services?”

Inara stared at the tablet as though it was dipped in something rancid. “...This...cannot be logged anywhere. I won’t have it on the cortex, if I can help it.”

“Oh trust me, this is the neatest little forgery ever done. Wouldn’t hold water under scrutiny. Oh, that reminds me, Jayne...I need you to work up an ID with the new license for the good doctor.” 

“Get me his mug and give me an hour.” 

“My mug?” Simon asked, looking at his tea in confusion. The deadpans clued him in. “Oh...my picture, right.”

“This is why you’re playing a doctor and not a criminal.” 

“Can’t I be a criminal doctor? Just this once?”

“Shut up, Simon.” Mal laughed, pushing back from the table slightly to cross his legs. “One other note, Simon’s working name is ‘Jacob’, for this endeavor. I told Badger we were heading back from Sandor, the other side of the planet, so we’ve bought ourselves a few hours at dock to prep. I need...clothes, I guess.”

“I’ll see to that.” Inara quipped primly, signing both contract with only the faintest curl to her nose. “If you’re going to represent me, you  _ will  _ look the part.”

“...Yes ma’am.” Mal’s instinctive bridle at the tone earned everyone’s raised eyebrow. “...I’ll work on it,  _ shàngdì de fèn _ .” 

“Good, it needs work.” Inara rose from the table as well, and Wash ducked out to the bridge. 

Mal waited until it was just himself, Simon, and the girls left in the kitchen, then cleared his throat. “Mei-Mei.”

River perked, looking at him curiously. Kaylee nudged her up and they made their way to the table. River was still recovering from the night’s sedation, and Simon apologized with his eyes as she folded into the seat at his elbow and picked lint off his sleeve. “Sleepy.”

“I heard.” Mal watched her quietly. Kaylee leaned over the bar and pulled a box wrapped in fabric from the drawer. River’s head perked and she turned to watch as though she had her chin on a string, and Simon watched in amazement as she came back to herself a little, eyes lighting up. He couldn’t help but smile. “I do have a job for you, if you’re up for it.”

“ _ Zhēn de ma _ ?”

“Yes, really.” Mal slid the box within reach, and Kayle posted up behind her chair with a huge grin. 

“I showed him what you painted for me, sweetie.” The mechanic ruffled the younger girls hair, watching her piece open the fabric as though she were afraid it would break. “I don’t know much about it, but I figured if you could do that with some old paint samples and lead pen, you’d need something...else, I guess.”

River stared at the box for a space of six or seven heartbeats before the most delighted smile broke over her face. Simon felt her joy, absolutely radiant, as she cracked the lid and pulled out a half dozen bottles splayed between her fingers. “There are whole  _ worlds  _ in here.”

“If you say so.” Mal was also grinning, looking down at his hands. “I thought the kitchen could use some color, if you’re up for it. More of what you put in the engine room would be fine with me. That old ivy stencil over the doorway is a little...dated.” 

“The whole kitchen?"

“...No food surfaces.” Mal amended, watching her play with the brushes. “Make this place feel a little more like home for everyone,  _ dong ma _ ?”

“Everyone and  _ me _ .” She said it with such finality and hope that Simon’s heart broke all over again, though this time, in the best way possible. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp, written after Chapter 42 posted: I should have addressed this sooner. This is not an easy topic to broach, I hope I can do it with respect. 
> 
> This story has a backdrop indentured servitude and slavery and the dismantling thereof. Not because of white saviorism, but because it is canon that all parties involved find the subject abhorrent and are the kind who try to do good where they can. Mal has some personal investment in seeing this place tank, you'll find out later.
> 
> This is not a white plantation with black servants, please don't read it that way. The servants I describe are very purposefully white. The owner of the plantation is also white, and a caricature of my neighbors here in the southern state where I live. I will be working in more POC in as the story progresses, but never in the context of this plantation. I couldn't do it. 
> 
> If you need to yell at me about this, I'm on tumbler as Mikanis.

Simon checked, checked, triple checked the pills and placement of the sedatives before walking Wash and Kaylee through it. River curled up on the end of the counter with a sullen look, making faces as he went over each dose and its purpose. When one would be better than the other, and what to use if they hit a wall with her treatment while he was out. She had her moments, Simon thought, where she looked almost like her normal self. Then she would be eating dinner and her spoon would completely miss her mouth when wires crossed in her mind, and she would storm to her room to hide until her vision straightened itself again. They hadn’t found a medicinal treatment for that. Inara suggested some mental exercises and meditation that River had not quite scoffed at.

There were moments when she moved that Simon swore she was not human. The fluidity in every piece of skin, bone, sinew, was alarming, choreographed with a innate focus that he didn’t remember being there before, despite her years of dance training. There were days when she looked too closely at the people around her and he could see her edges blurring. There were days when she was not there at all. Those hurt the most. The vacant, empty eyes and missing spark that indicated River was hidden somewhere deep within, working through trauma he couldn’t begin to guess at. He pictured her tinkering under Serenity’s engine on those days, to comfort himself. He wondered if that’s why she and Kaylee were bonding so well...molding her mental recovery on the mechanic’s sunny disposition and logical thought processes.

She caught him staring as he talked and offered him a small smile, and he took heart in the idea that today at least, his little sister was whole. The day he was due to leave. It didn’t seem fair, to leave her on her own when Simon comprised so much of her stability. But he was trusting these people, this ship, to supplement that in his absence. She thought of this as home. It was becoming more so with every day that passed.

She sprung from her corner onto Wash’s back and he stumbled only a little bit before catching her. Warmth. Kaylee, Wash, Book and Serenity. She would be surrounded by warmth and smiles while he was gone. That would have to do for now. Wash marched out of the infirmary while Kaylee lingered to ask a few questions. Simon watched the floral print of her skirt disappear through the galley window and realized he wasn’t as worried as perhaps he should be. He wondered if he should feel guilty for that. Probably would, later, when the distance was real.

The night before they were due to leave, she’d come to his room and curled up at his back, on top of the blanket, like she had when she was nine. That seemed so long ago now. She’d nudged him in the shoulder once to indicate her presence and then promptly went to sleep, rasping in her way that was not quite a snore. He slept deeper with her weight at his back, her presence in the room. She had long outgrown it, but he’d explained the plan again to her in a lucid moment and she’d seemed to understand...poked his nose and said she’d miss her goose.

It would be a month, at most. And he’d be home every week, calling to check in as often as he could. Not forever. Just for a while.

Simon and Kaylee joined the others in the cargo bay as Inara’s shuttle docked. Mal exited briskly with a short stack of garment boxes and transferred their contents into the hard case Simon had laid out for him. Inara threatened him with violence if he crammed the new purchases into his duffel, was he was wont to do. He’d had his hair trimmed, Simon noted. Clean shaven. He paused over the last box and pulled out a long coat, the same cut as the old war coat he kept on a hook in the mess...the one with the bullet holes. This was a darker material, with cleaner lines.

Jayne bumped him with his elbow and handed over his plastic ID card. Simon heard a ringing in his ears as he looked down at it. It was...his old photo. The graduation photo that had been on his original license.

“Problem?”

Yes, in a word. His mouth worked, but no sound came from it, blinking sharply until he focused again, turning the blue and white laminate over and over in his hand, soaking in every line of ink. It wasn’t his name. It had the appropriate holographs, dates, the metallic band through the center. It was perfect. He hadn’t been prepared for it.

The sound of his own voice surprised him when he finally found it. “I thought they’d destroyed all record of me in the Medic Cortex. I’m...not listed in my graduating class. My picture was taken down from the digital archive, even...even the class photo was altered when the warrant went out.”

Jayne raised an eyebrow.

“...It’s like seeing a ghost.” Simon finished simply, and it clicked. He knew it did from the way Jayne rubbed his neck, looking at the card instead of meeting his eyes. “Um...thanks.”

“‘Long as it looks right.” Jayne uttered awkwardly.

“It’s...yes, it’s perfect.” Simon nodded, shoving it into his pocket with a thousand yard stare. “Good job.”

He turned at the sound of Mal coming down the stairs and cocked his head curiously. It wasn’t much of a trim, just enough to smooth the lines. He’d closed the top button but not the collar and was threading a burgundy silk cravat around his neck. Simon’s fingers twitched, but the offer to help him close it died on his lips when the captain folded it in two quick movements into a perfect cascade and tucked it into his jacket without breaking stride.

He must have looked surprised, because Mal stopped, looking over his ensemble sharply. “What? Bad fit?”

“...No.” Simon said, brushing a hand over his mouth. “That’s...dapper, yeah. You look the part.”  

He’d changed into one of his more simple slate grey suits, something tailored enough, but not designed to draw attention. He hadn’t packed very much formal wear, but enough that he wouldn’t embarrass Inara if she decided to doll up. He doubted Inara had anything that counted as casual wear in her ensemble either.

Malcolm shouldered Simon’s suitcase with one hand and nodded to Jayne. The mercenary had opted for working clothes, his pants shifting heavily with every step. Loaded with his small arsenal, per usual. There’d been no talking him out of it.

“Zoe on deck with the first round of people?”

“They’re settling into the shuttle now.” Simon answered.

Mal nodded, striding over to the comm. “Wash, we’re ready here.”

“Yessir. Moon’s a short jump, should be near enough to launch the shuttles in twenty.”

“Go away so I can paint!” River added snidely, and Mal chuckled as he turned away.

“Well...let’s go get paid.”

XXXX

Inara’s shuttle was absolutely decadent. That twenty minute interim flight was the longest Simon had spent in it, reclining on her velvet couch as he watched her dark curls toss over a shoulder at the control panel. She kicked Mal to the back within three minutes of closing the door, and the captain sat with his back to her, determinedly not looking at her launch sequence. Simon guessed that was an age-old battle between them.

After a few moments, she spun her chair around and looked him over with a gentle smile. “Mal is not quite forbidden to talk once we land, but he won’t be handling much of the conversation if I can help it.”

“How’d you convince him of that?"

“I tried bossing him around in the dressing room.” She smirked, cutting her eyes at the back of his head. “It didn’t go well.”

“Demure is apparently not in my repertoire.”

“That’s fine for an estate manager, I guess…” Simon side-stepped the rest of that conversation, not in the least interested in getting stuck between them on how the captain should or should not compose himself. “I wrote out River’s regimen for Kaylee. It’s in the infirmary if you want to look it over when we get back.”

“I will.” She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Don’t worry so much. She’s in good hands, and I’ll be back soon as well. Four days or so, I think. Maybe less, if I can find enough reasons to be gone without insulting our host.”

“...I’m okay, actually.” Simon’s brow furrowed as he said it, but it didn’t feel like a lie. He was content, convinced she would be okay. He was excited to be working again, despite the circumstances. After his long respite, even the mundane vaccinations and vitamin supplements felt like a scandalous affair. He could have ridden the high of that first job for half a year. “And I’ll be checking in, too.”

“She’s probably gonna hide swear words in the gorram roses.” Mal added with a grin.


	16. Chapter 16

Plantation Marigny was, at first glance, breathtaking. Simon’s nerves during the descent drove him to distraction, and he’d pulled the tablet from his bag to look up more information on the Marigny Moon itself. The global view was pretty telling, with lush overgrown forests clustered around the terraforming centers and dry prairie expanding in rings from those. There was a series of mountains where the green was thickest, but low elevation. He doubted there was ever snow. A man made river wound down from its peak, so likely well water was discovered during the forming process...a boon, really. All a planet needed was water. He remembered thinking how tenuous the entire system was in his geography classes. 

The plantation itself sat at the crux of the mountain range, sprawling an absurd number of acres away. It was the largest civilized sector on the moon. The plantation itself could have been a sovereign state if the war had ended differently. Simon tried not to think on that too much, a sovereign state whose sole export was living people. 

They managed to land slightly ahead of Zoe’s shuttle, and with minimal fussing from the pair at the helm. In the end, Mal couldn’t help himself, surveying nervously over Inara’s shuttle as she coasted through the atmospheric divide. The rattle of the small vessel was nothing like Serenity’s, a higher pitched whine that made Simon’s stomach twist in fear, and he realized abruptly why Inara didn’t do this if she could avoid it. The shuttle was old. In good shape, but...old, nonetheless. He wondered how Zoe was faring with her small gaggle of strangers and Jayne. 

The airstrip was not quite refined enough to be a true dock, but it would do to service a larger vessel if needed. There was a pumping station for refreshing the water reserves and waste cremation set a little further back. A small gangplank ran over gently waving grasses to the strip’s central hub, a large, open gazebo structure with a small park and picnic area alongside. Perfect for entertaining families before they picked out their new household help. 

That tasted bitter. He schooled his features as Inara waved Zoe and asked for fifteen minutes to prepare before disembarking. Mal was not quite anxious, but Simon could tell from the set of his shoulders that he thought the request was unnecessary, and could have counted down to the second when he said so out loud. Inara’s look might have cut glass. She rose without a word and strode past him to her vanity. “I just need a minute, Mal.” 

“Your face is immaculate, ‘Nara, why are we waiting?”

 

“Mal.” Simon waved to get his attention, and rested his gaze on the midline of his chest to avoid the annoyed stare. “How often do you clean your guns?”

“...Enough.”

“...Let her clean her guns.” Simon finished simply, turning back to his tablet. 

Inara’s painted lips smiled, and she tried to soothe the tone a little when she turned back to the captain. “The ruse didn’t start when we broke atmo, it started three days ago when I sent the first wave.”

“Right…” Mal grunted, still not mollified, but acquiescing at least to let Inara freshen up and get her mind right. He turned to the stacks of luggage with a critical eye and began arranging them. 

“Mal, they’ll send someone to fetch those.” Inara stated without turning around, twisting her hair up and considering it in the mirror. 

Mal grit his teeth, looking for somewhere to put his idle hands. Simon tried to keep a neutral expression but failed when he resolutely shoved them in his pockets and stared at the ceiling. 

By the time they actually disembarked, Mal had drawn on some deep reserve of patience. In the span of five minutes before the door opened, the captain’s shoulders relaxed, but remained straight, the set of his chin lifted, and he seemed to melt slightly into his clothing. Simon hadn’t expected it. If he weren’t personally aware of the number of scars under those clothes and how they’d come about, he’d have sworn Mal was born of gentry. He unfolded from his position on the couch and offered Inara a hand as she rose and slipped into embroidered slippers. They disappeared under the weight of her black and gold skirts and she adjusted her veil in preparation for sunlight before nodding to Mal to open the door. 

A small entourage had appeared at the boardwalk. Simon counted six horses and four men tying them off near the gazebo, and a small hovercraft covered in painted canvas drifted over the grasses to their side. 

He spotted the plantation owner easily. He rode in the back with a black cowboy hat on, his gunbelt tooled leather depicting sage and thistle. A black shirt and ivory lapels...a matching ivory beard and sun weathered face with shrewd, dark eyes. Mal and Simon hung back as Inara waved warmly, watching him disembark and only moving to meet him halfway. “Master Camden, a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” 

“Lady Serra, welcome to Marigny.” He replied, his tone gruff but friendly. He spared the two men behind her a glance before taking her in. The look wasn’t rude, or unkind, simply curious. “It’s an honor to have a Companion visit the estate. I look forward to your company.” 

“I have small parcels here, and a crate of gifts for you, as well.” She leaned in, wrinkling her nose girlishly. “I heard you like whiskey.”

He chuckled, waving the welcoming party over. “That I do, and I’m much obliged. That second ship is yours as well?”

“That’s correct. This is Malcolm Reynolds, he runs a transport company for me. And this is my doctor, Jacob.”

“A pleasure, sir.” Simon nodded when the man made no move to shake his hand. 

Instead, Camden squinted at him quietly. “Doctor. Never a bad thing to have on staff. Captain Reynolds. Livestock in the second?” 

Mal nodded too, taking his cue from Simon. “And two of mine, stablehands.” 

“I’ll send word ahead. I’m sure we’ve got room for them. My men will tell them where to take that ferry, and there’s a dock behind the building they can use. Close to the house.” Camden spoke in short sentences, blunt. It would be easy to mistake for rudeness, but Mal didn’t seem put off in the least. Simon supposed he couldn’t really remark if he did. 

Camden offered Inara his arm and escorted her onto the hovercraft. Mal and Simon shook hands with the small crew and exchanged words about where things were going. Two of them broke off to escort them back to the horses. Simon instantly fell in love with a dappled gray mare, but her hardware was too nice to assume she wasn’t owned. He put his hand out and her velvety nose brushed his cheek, ears attentive. It made him grin. 

“You ride, sir?” 

“I...used to, a long time ago.” Simon muttered, reluctantly walking over to the cinnamon horse the stableman had handed off. “I think I remember how it works.” 

“You could--”

He heard the captain start, but settled himself easily on the saddle, checking the stirrup length without another word. He looked up and Mal had the most curious expression on his face, it made him roll his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

“She’s not anyone’s particular, just a favorite.” The hand gestured with his reigns to the other horse. “Sweet as can be. Call her Bijou. If you’re up for it, you’re welcome for a morning ride during your stay, just let us know when you want to go out. I’m Thomas, I tend to the mares.”

“Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

It was disturbing that a place so beautiful was being used for this purpose. The thought occured to him at first as they turned away from the boardwalk and waded through the tall grasses to a trail alongside the picnic area. The trees overhead were easily a hundred years old, a throwback to earth that was in the way only the inner circle could manage. The dust of the hovercraft disappeared around the bend, and Simon frowned slightly, but knew he didn’t really need to worry about Inara. She was a very high profile guest to have, and he doubted that Camden would do anything off-putting this early on in the visit. 

The trail led them around the same bend, sided by a running river with wide stones and clear water. The mountain curled huge and green along the right, and soon they were passing dark stone outcroppings with the faintest trace of dynamite drilling from when the road was built. It was a warm afternoon. Everywhere Simon looked there was green, a vibrant hum of earth and plant that he’d never seen up close. The manicured gardens and manufactured parks were the closest he’d ever come to a true forest, and there was a traitorous voice in his head that whispered to stay. Stay, what harm could come of it. Beautiful...and bastardized. He just hadn’t flipped it over yet to find the rot. 

It was there, in his horse’s brand. It was there in the thick steel bracelet on Thomas’ left wrist. He’d find it. He’d look for it. 

Mal pulled up alongside him easily and kept pace, his eyes often straying to the running water. When the river finally broke away from the road, it curved away, leaving a vast flood plain that rolled gently into the foothills. There, nestled in the mountain’s shadow, was a white house. The light didn’t quite reach its eaves, and they could make out the tiny golden flash of Inara’s clothing as she made her way up the steps to the veranda in the dappled sunlight. It was modeled on homes thousands of years old, columns, sweeping windows, bridged by a lavender field and settled with more century oaks. 

Mal put a hand on his saddle horn, tugging the reigns gently to slow their horses and allow the gap between Thomas and their rides to grow. He was no longer smiling. Simon touched his elbow as he pulled back to get his attention. Mal checked the riders behind them before speaking. “I don’t know. It’s...off.” 

“Too pretty, too clean.” Simon remarked. Cabins were coming into view, a long row of them extending behind the house. “I would never know.”

“I know how this sounds, but…” Mal hesitated, eyes crawling over the landscape one more time. “Have you ever smelled a dead snake in the summer heat?”

Simon blinked, thinking, then shook his head. “No.” 

“...That’s what this feels like. Something that oughta be dead and might still kill me.”

“That’s an unsettling thought.” The doctor frowned, soaking in the sunlight and breeze. There was no taint, to his eyes or nose, but he felt it, under the dirt. The captain wasn’t wrong. “It’s beautiful but I know I’ll regret this job.”

The house only loomed, growing larger as they approached, until its true sweep was apparent. The veranda alone could host a party of a hundred without crowding. They followed Thomas along the drive to the side of the house where the first stable was tucked away in an alcove of trees, also painted white. It seemed an indifferent color choice, somehow, meant to shun the landscape. They dismounted and Mal looked up at the hum of the shuttle’s engine getting closer. “You go on inside, I’ll stay for them.” 

Simon shifted his bag slightly, inhaling the dusky scent of lavender and earth. Even the ground was quiet beneath his feet. For the first time since leaving Serenity, he began to worry in earnest, but not for River. For himself. For Mal and Inara. Jayne, Zoe, the others on the boat that he hadn’t even met eyes with yet. Watched, was the word, he’d been searching for. Watched with calm, outlasting patience that scared him in a way the Alliance never had. 

As he climbed the steps, his eyes fell on the sentinel post further down the lane. The long line a rifle barrel rested over the railing in the crow’s nest, and a lone man stood still. It sent a chill down his spine that lingered until he reached the doors.


	17. Chapter 17

Marcus Camden was a man of few words. After one or two failed attempts to coax him into conversation, Inara shifted gears and spoke less, though she wore an ever present smile upon her features. It was just a hair shy of haughty. She was an amazing woman, really. Nuanced in ways Simon hadn’t appreciated having only seen her in her off hours. 

There was a short tour. Camden led them to their rooms himself, on the second floor. Simon’s overlooked the lavender fields. The second floor had a balcony that connected the suites from the outside, and Simon was the last door, Mal after that, and Inara’s was the master suite immediately off the stairwell. Simon thought he’d been rich to have his own bathroom, but so did Mal, and Inara’s boasted a full reading room, as well. Camden was watching Inara, and Simon watched him. 

He was an older man, late sixties, same general shape and hard lines that the captain had, with the addition of a somewhat softer belly. There was no mud on his boots, but they looked well worn. Inara’s fingers traced the spines of several tomes, and he heard her sigh, knowing she’d be gone before she got a chance to read them. Her musical voice carried in the high ceiling. “This is all I’ve wanted, since I was a girl. A piece of green land and a shelf full of books.”

“And horses.” Camden added gruffly, and Inara nodded, turning back.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Master Camden.” 

“I don’t own you, girl, Camden is good enough.” He turned and disappeared out the door and Inara’s facade faltered slightly as she met Simon’s eyes, following him to the stairs again.

They didn’t see Zoe and Jayne again until well after dark. The house was built for entertaining...they often hosted weddings and ceremonies, Camden told them incrementally. He himself lived in a smaller house on the hill, a half mile walk up the main road. He liked his privacy, saw no reason to keep people from enjoying the mansion when they visited, however. He explained that the cabins out back were servant quarters for new indentures and his personal servants. Jayne and Zoe would be sharing a room in with the stable staff...they had their own shower and a galley kitchen and common area where the hands had breakfast in the mornings. Dinner was the only sit-down meal provided, but the kitchen was open from dawn to dusk. They weren’t allowed to enter the servant quarters without an escort. Thomas could show them everything they needed to know. There were two banquet rooms set up for dinner, one for forty and a smaller one to the side with places for ten. 

Camden remained standing until Mal pulled Inara’s chair out for her and she was seated across from him. Mal and Simon took the chairs to her left. The captain’s knee fell lazily against his almost immediately and Simon smiled into his wine glass. A slow stream of people began to filter in, Thomas pointing to various tables and making sure they were filled in an orderly fashion. The doctor watched him curiously...he was the only one not wearing a firearm. The other two men herding the new arrivals in until all but the last table was full. Camden’s servants took that one. After a moment, Zoe and Jayne appeared and they were invited to join them.

And to Simon’s surprise, Thomas came to sit with them. Camden nodded his head slightly, “You’ve met my son.”

“Thomas Camden, my Lady Serra.” He supplied for Inara’s benefit, and Simon was profoundly confused. He was very clearly wearing an indenture bracelet, but all of the signals were...otherwise. He was easy in his chair, next to his father, rolling his sleeves as he glanced over his shoulder at the susurrus. “Pardon the crowd, my friends. We traditionally offer their first dinner on the moon here in the house. Tomorrow they’ll be interviewed for their skill sets.”

“Might..” Inara started and pursed her lips, glancing between the two. “Might I sit in, for part of that?” 

“If you’d like, it’s not a closed procedure.” 

Camden nodded his agreement. “You’ve got run of the property for a week. Do what you’d like.”

“It’s more like their last meal.” Mal suggested quietly, and Thomas and Camden both fixed him with a stare. “Maybe they don’t know that yet.”

“They don’t.” Camden’s words fell like pebbles in clear water. “We call it the first as a kindness.”

Mal nodded turning his highly polished fork over. Camden studied him now, dark eyes falling on his hands, his features, the sun streaks in his hair. Simon didn’t like the appraising quality, but Mal didn’t seem to mind. It was the man’s livelihood, he should have expected it. Mal cleared his throat and continued. “We’re in the market for twenty or so. The lady has bids out on three houses of varying sizes and needs. Those auctions close tomorrow, that should determine our final number and the skills we’re looking for.”

“How many horses?” Thomas asked curiously. 

“One of the homes has about 100 acres and running water, so as many as...five, I would say. To start.” Mal looked to Inara to confirm. “The lady is possibly interested in breeding if the stock is good.”

“We have a couple of stallion’s we could part with….more coming in later in the month if you’re here that long.” 

Camden scratched his beard. “Either of you branded?”

“Br….” Simon caught himself, then shook his head. Mal met the man’s stare without a word.

“Inara.” Camden’s tone shifted slightly, almost scolding. Inara’s froze aside from the slightest upward twitch of her eyebrows. “You don’t own these boys.” 

“I...do. The contract is recent, but they’ve both been in my employ for a long time now.”

“Ain’t the same thing.” Camden said, leaning back as servants in white coats began filing in with their salads and platters of whole roasted rabbit and root vegetables. “You have to know that. To do this.”

“I admit that...there’s a degree of nuance to this sort of engagement that I thought I was prepared for…” Inara began hesitantly, offering her wine glass for a refill. “ If you’d be willing to mentor me, for a day or two--” 

“No.” Again, clean as a ringing hammer. “You make this decision yourself, young lady. It is a decision. You’re not employing these people. You’ll have a responsibility to them. See to their health and welfare. See to their clothes and food and minds.” 

Inara just nodded, and Camden seemed satisfied. A servant presented a bottle of the gifted whiskey, and then left it at Camden’s elbow, taking a second over to the servants table. They wordlessly lifted their glasses in thanks, Jayne and Zoe following suit a second after. 

Camden corked the bottle and poured himself two fingers before passing it to his son and on around the table. “I’m not the lecturing type, Inara. You’re picking up a company of angry, resourceful children. They’ll kill you. At least one of them will try.” 

Simon filled his plate, and then his tumbler when the whiskey came around. It did nothing to settle the creeping feeling in his gut, his sudden lack of appetite. Camden’s voice continued, lingering like smoke in his ears. “ A lot of folk come through here with money in their pockets. A lot leave sooner than they thought. A lot don’t buy. Ain’t no offense to me, if it goes that way.”

“What I take offense to--” Camden served himself last, cutting a whole thigh from what remained of the rabbit nearest to him. “Is people who think this is easy. Any of it. Buying, selling, owning, working, being sold, being worked. The work alone can kill. There’s a trick to it. Maybe you’ll get it, maybe not. Seems to me a Companion’s design is to please people.” 

Inara lifted her chin slightly, but said nothing. 

“It ain’t in line with the nature of this work, is all. The only thing I have to teach is this...you can’t trust anyone you own. And you can’t own anyone you trust.”Camden picked up his knife and fork, talking more to his plate than to anyone at the table. “Think on that awhile. You’ll see it complicates things.” 


	18. Chapter 18

Simon stood over Inara’s shoulder and watched from the corner of his eye as the new group of pilgrims was ushered into the hallway. The larger dining room had been cleared in the night, leaving an open ballroom with only a desk and series of chairs. Thomas bustled in with a huge stack of folders on one arm, and Simon could smell the sunlight on him as he passed. It was warm outside, speaking to outright heat later in the day, and even Inara had opted for lighter clothing. Simon himself had forgone his coat. 

Thomas settled into his desk and set the folders to his left, near Inara’s elbow. She peered at them curiously and then stole the bottom five with an entreating glance to the owner’s son. He just nodded, and pulled the top off of the stack, calling the name he found within. 

The indentures were dressed for job interviews. It struck him as profoundly ironic and utterly unfair, to see the hope in their eyes as they filed in and faced a small battery of questions. Those with current physicals were sorted into a separate stack, and Simon frowned to see the number of untreated people piling up. Most of them were lean, bordering thin. At least one, he clocked from the moment he walked in, suffered debilitating arthritis...the doctor was relieved when he named himself an accountant and financial coordinator instead of a laborer. Standing over Inara’s shoulder, he inspected the forms that rested behind the initial profile in each folder. 

There was a physical exam form, and a medical history. A list of their recent work written in resume style with their bid price at the top and estimated contract value at the bottom. A rations estimate and yearly upkeep tally, their assigned accommodations. Behind that, was a blank autopsy report. 

Inara’s fingers stilled instantly on that page, and she allowed the folder to close on its own, without a word. Simon swallowed and brushed his knuckles over her bare shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, staring at a fixed point on the floor instead of the young man trying very hard to talk up his education instead of his fitness. 

He made it through eight before the ringing in his ears became too much, and he cleared his throat gently as the lad left. Inara tilted her head, and he asked if he could excuse himself for a moment. Of the eight interviews, six were in the stack of people that needed medical assessment. The idea of his own handwriting going into those folders disgusted him. 

Inara nodded gently, folding her stolen folders into her lap as she leaned over to speak with Thomas between his notes. Simon made it to the hallway and the fragile smiles he got from the people waiting were altogether too much. All he could see were these equally fragile bodies on an autopsy table, calloused and sunburned, and dead much, much too soon. 

He took the stairs two at time and stalked to the end of the hall. He hovered outside his door before pacing, back to the stairs...heard another name called and swore under his breath, making the lap again. 

On the return, he stopped outside Mal’s door. He only hesitated a second before he opened it without knocking. Mal was there. He sat at a desk of his own, just off the center of the room, facing the door, with a foot high pile of folders on one side of his desk and a box of more on the floor next to his feet. There was a tumbler of whiskey on his desk, and he wore what he always wore...his canvas work pants, button down, boots. He looked like home. 

He only glanced up as Simon closed the door, locking it behind himself. The captain gestured at the stack, muttering, “They gave me about two hundred resumes to sort through.”

Simon nodded, leaning on the door while he tried to sort through the ringing in his ears long enough to answer. He couldn’t find anything to say. He watched Mal drink his whiskey, well past sipping at this point if the half empty bottle was any indication. His tea remained at his other elbow, barely touched and cold by now. The lead crystal tumbler threw a span of prismatic light over the desk as he set it down, and he realized, upon closer inspection, that the captain was a little drunk. It was in the measured turn of his hands through the papers, the not-quite squint at the typeface that was at odds with how sharp Simon knew his vision to be. It wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.

He felt oddly comforted that Mal felt as off as he did. The doctor took one step, and then another, and Mal didn’t seem to notice, engrossed in the document in front of his face. Simon swallowed and thought that if he could crawl inside the man’s chest to relax he might. He missed Serenity, missed his sister. Feeling lost was not something he handled well. Before he quite realized what he was doing, he’d pulled Mal’s chair back and swung into his lap, straddling his hips. 

The captain grabbed him reflexively, starting, “Simon, this isn’t--”

The doctor inhaled the rest of that statement, tilting his head and pressing his mouth over Mal’s to silence him. He didn’t think, he desperately wanted not to think, and he said that as concisely as he could with his lips as tongue. Mal tasted like summer and whiskey, his shoulder warm through the fabric of his shirt, and his pistol was digging uncomfortably into the bottom of the doctor’s thigh, but he couldn’t care. Hesitation became sparks, burning until Mal’s arms slid around his waist  and settled him against the hard plane of his stomach. 

Simon felt alive. He felt as though he’d stepped into a prolonged funeral and the only other living soul that he could touch wasn’t kissing him hard enough. He groaned in frustration, nipping at Mal’s lip and threading his fingers into the older man’s hair as he rocked his hips forward. The captain faltered only slightly, his arms tightening as though to hold him still, and that was  _ not-- _

Simon  _ bit  _ him, then, squarely on the bottom lip, and Mal tore away swearing, a hand flying to his throat.

“ _ Simon _ , you...trying to kiss me or start a fight?” He hissed, more than a little breathless, but he had that look, on his face, and Simon wanted. No.

“Mal, I  _ need-- _ ”

Someone knocked on the door. Mal did not release the grip on his throat, cutting his eyes to the door so harshly the doctor was surprised it didn’t splinter under the weight. He shivered, swallowing under the hard line of his fingers, but half a second later, they were standing. Mal guided him off his lap and to the side by that grip, and the low heat in his stomach whined because he’d just wanted...more. More, more time, more touch, more attention. 

“...You’ll go to the balcony now. And  _ wait _ .” 

Simon nodded as the second knock dragged a sigh out of the captain’s chest. His thumb stroked the line of his jaw gently as he released him, and Simon all but stumbled the five steps to the veranda door and slipped outside. 

The sunlight on his face was grounding. He knew he should be working. Figuring out a way to ask for that stack of untreated people and a workspace that would let him fall into routine. Hide, in routine, rather. He watched the heat shimmer over the fields and the leaves shifting in the breeze and he thought again how much River would love this place. But if he was already this affected, he knew she could never see it. He could only imagine how quickly she’d find the nightmare underneath. If anything, he hoped he could leave it behind when he visited her. 

He didn’t hear the captain approaching until a rough hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him away from the railing. If Mal had been drinking before, Simon wouldn’t guess it now, from the set of his broad shoulders and the surety of his step. He pulled him through the door to the doctor’s room and all but shoved him towards the wall. He pointed, without looking, as he strode over to the door. “There.” 

Simon swallowed again, expecting the brusqueness to rile him, but instead a knot of tension in the back of his head began to unravel slightly. He hadn’t even recognized its presence. The captain locked his door m and met his eyes as he turned back. It was only a ten step gap between them, but Mal somehow managed to bring a stormfront along when he closed it.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think, his shoulders hit the wall a split second before Mal hit him and there was nothing patient in the way the captain took his chin and opened his mouth and then just climbed inside. He couldn’t keep up, his hands finding purchase on the back of Mal’s shoulders, until his nails bit in and he heard himself under the kiss, a desperate sound as he tried to break away for air.

Mal simply gripped his jaw in his splayed fingers and brought him back, and Simon hadn’t known a kiss could punish. He wilted under it, dizzy and pulling, holding himself up by virtue of the captain’s shirt. It was perfect. Conscious thought shut off, leaving him blessedly quiet for the first time since landing. The ringing subsided and was replaced by the roar of his heart, something beautiful and much more familiar. 

Mal finally pulled back for air himself, not quite panting as he rested his forehead against the doctor’s. Simon’s lips were sore, bitten and teased. He half expected that grip to lighten, but it didn’t. Instead, Mal turned his head aside to run the heat of his mouth along the fine line of his jaw to this throat and Simon went up on his toes, utterly trapped between the wall and the unyielding line of Mal’s body. The captain’s boot slipped between his and knocked his feet apart, spreading his legs, and Simon’s eyes widened, instinctively trying to bring his knees together.

The grip said  _ no _ . “You will be still.”

Mal leaned against him, sliding his thigh very deliberately between Simon’s and the doctor shivered wildly with the realization that he was hard. Achingly hard, and the captain had only kissed him, that hardly seemed fair. Calling that ‘only a kiss’ didn’t either. His hand slid up into Mal’s hair as he struggled with the order, his surgeon’s hands outright shaking as he willed himself to stop moving. The captain’s mouth returned to his skin, mouthing a hot line up to his ear as he muttered, “Good.” 

Simon was fairly sure he could die here, in this quiet, he was going to simply cease to exist if he didn’t get Mal’s skin under his hands in a matter of seconds. He grabbed at the suspenders and missed, keening low in his throat when Mal’s teeth bit a warning into the crux of his shoulders. “Please, Mal, I want to touch you.” 

“I know.” The captain sighed, and the doctor cried out sharply when Mal rocked his hips forward once against the hard line of his cock. Mal grunted his approval, releasing his jaw at last. “I’ll get around to that. I don’t think we have the time.”

“ _Mal_.” Simon was not begging. Absolutely not. A wicked grin curled against his throat he felt it, and felt the captain take a steadying breath. 

“Hush, now.” Mal leaned back to look him over, and the intensity of that look set Simon on edge. He opened his mouth to protest the lack of contact, pinned to the wall astride Mal’s thigh, but the captain clapped a hand over his mouth with a pointed look. “House is full of people, Simon.”

He held the touch long enough for the doctor to nod and then both the captain’s hands dropped to his trousers, working the doctor’s belt open and his shirt out before Simon could process what was happening. His hands fell over the captain’s in shock, but then Mal was skimming under the waistband of his smallclothes and fucking God, he couldn’t just-- “ _ Tā mā de shàngdì, Mal _ , I can’t, I can’t be--”

That fucking hand returned, and Simon groaned behind it as Mal wrapped his hand around the length of his cock, eyes falling closed as he curled over the touch. The captain rocked his hips once, and the doctor could feel the hard line of his own in answer. “I’m realizing that...and I could listen to it all day, but we don’t, have, time.” 

He punctuated that sentence with brisk stroke of his wrist, and no, this was what dying felt like, Simon was sure of it. He twisted under that grip, bucking to get closer, and there was amused glint to Mal’s expression that he did not appreciate. Again, again, he moaned behind the captain’s hand, meeting his eyes and swearing nine kinds of vengeance when they  _ did  _ have time, later. 

It was savage and quick, and exactly what he’d wanted. Mal held him there, holding his eyes and the thread of his heartbeat in in an untenable grip, and if it’d been anyone else, Simon might have been ashamed he came so quickly. There was no time to linger, no time to savor at all, just the inexorable drag of skin over his and a gun calloused hand holding his overly sensitive mouth captive. Simon’s hands fisted in his shirt, folding in on himself as he neared the edge, but Mal pulled him upright, refusing to let him hide when it finally crested and he spilled over the man’s fist. 

His knees were shaking, his hands, his mind, his everything. Mal finally let him go, and Simon let his head fall against the chest, breathing raggedly as the world came back into focus. Mal held him, still hard, all lean lines and warmth. It occurred to Simon to thank him, and he almost laughed out loud at that, but when he picked up his head again, Mal kissed him with a sincerity that stole his breath away. His hands were gentle now, steady. Simon relaxed under him until the captain slowly drew away and took his hand. 

He turned him toward the bed with a small push. “You have a headache, and you’re napping. I’ll wake you up in an hour.” 

“...Yeah..” Simon’s body was reacting well before his mind could, and he fell into his pillows with a deep sigh. He was asleep before the veranda door closed. 


	19. Chapter 19

“It’s open.” Simon called from his bathroom, trailing a razor down the side of his cheek through thick soap. He tapped it against the basin to shake the soap loose, spotting the captain as he paused in the middle of the room. The doctor just waved him over, and Mal came to stand in the door, a conflicted expression on his face. Simon raised an eyebrow and cleared another swathe of skin. 

He’d woken an hour later of his own accord, rolled over to find his shirt still hiked and his pants hanging open and low on his hips. He hadn’t even removed his shoes. It made him smile a little, rinsing the blade as he started to work on the other side. Mal said nothing, watching him work, though his eyes were repeating an audible phrase over and over again, until Simon sighed. “Mal, if you try to apologize for that, I might hit you on principle.” 

Mal shook his head, but didn’t meet his eyes. “...I’m not sorry, not really. I wish I’d been sober.” 

“I was going to ask about that.” Simon muttered, pursing his lips and lifting his chin a bit to scrape the stubble from his throat. “It’s not like you to drink that early. At least, I think not.”

“No, I’m not in the habit.” Mal rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger. “I found...a pattern, in the paper, that I didn’t like. Some of them have detailed work histories. I’ll tell you more when we meet with the others.” 

“How’s Inara?” 

“More upset than she’s letting on, I think. It’ll be a kindness to get her out of here.” 

Simon nodded, finishing up and wringing a towel through the hot water to wipe his face. He turned to face Mal and to his surprise, the captain stepped back as though to let him pass. Simon cleaned his hands and hung the towel over the basin’s edge, crossing his arms over his bare chest. It wasn’t like Mal to be skittish. If that was even the proper word. It bothered him that Mal wouldn’t meet his eyes. He reached out and hooked two fingers between the buttons of his shirt, pulling him far enough into the doorway that would no one would see him lean up to press a slow kiss to his mouth. He lingered until he felt the captain’s shoulders drop a fraction, and then pulled back, smiling. “You always looks surprised when I kiss you.”

“...I am.” 

“I needed that..earlier. I needed it exactly the way it happened, or I was going to lose my mind.” Simon offered quietly, not relinquishing his grip to keep him close. “If I’d found a bottle before I found you, I can’t say I’d have been better off.” 

“It...didn’t occur to me to seek you out first.” Mal admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, and he looked displeased with himself. 

“No, because you were working.” Simon countered, refusing to accept any form of apology for what had happened. “I’m not kidding. I needed it, Mal. My head wasn’t here, and there was no work for me.” 

“We’ll get to that.” Mal nodded quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “Let it be a lesson to you, that’s what happens when you bite me.”

Simon grinned, releasing his shirt at last and pulling his own off of the garment hanger behind the door. “Well...you told me I could ask for things.” 

Mal shared his smile as he turned away and moved into the room, grabbing the chair near the fireplace as he watched Simon dress. “We’re headed to the stable to check in on Zoe and Jayne. Inara’s having lunch in her room and asked for some time before dinner.” 

He paused as Simon looped a fresh tie around his neck, watching the knot come together curiously. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?”

“...Are you...like River? Sensitive?” 

Simon paused, glancing back at the captain, unsure of what to say. He thought on it for a moment as he sat on the edge of the bed and laced into his boots. “I’m not...no, not like she is. I’ve always been very empathetic, but she’s...miles away, from me, in that regard.” 

“I thought so. She strikes me as exceptional.” 

“She is.” Simon confirmed easily. “If I hadn’t grown up with her, I wouldn’t have given the empathy rumor much stock, but especially since I’ve gotten her back, it’s been worse. And more deliberate, on her part.”

“And you can’t do it deliberately.”

“I don’t possess the same clarity that she does, no. River looks, I just...feel. I’ve always just called it my intuition. Gut feeling.” Simon frowned, adjusting his sleeves as he stood and wandered closer. “I’m particularly adept at patterns and logical decisions, but emotionally, I’ve spent so long tuning other people out that it feels like...a language I’ve forgotten. And the rest is just impressions. Like...this place, for instance. My ears have been ringing since we landed. It makes me nervous. I can’t say with certainty that it means anything...my medical training says it could be as simple as a change in pressure. But I know better, somehow, and if I don’t find a meaningful way to stay busy, I’m not sure I’ll be entirely sane when we go home.”

“I’m not ready to back out yet. Place is plenty creepy, but it’s the people that put me on edge.” Mal stood, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops as Simon straightened his clothing. 

“I’ll ask about their current medical arrangements at dinner.” Simon looked him over once and the captain paused.

“What?”

“...I really can’t be quiet, you know.” Simon flushed despite himself, glancing at the wall where the captain had trapped him earlier. He cleared his throat. “So, I mean...maybe it’s better to wait until after Inara leaves….” 

Simon didn’t have to look at him, he recognized that  _ tone _ now, and his hand strayed to back of his neck, grinning as the captain muttered, “...And here I was, behaving myself.”

“I’m just saying that...that it might be wise.” Simon finished lamely, brushing his elbow in passing as he headed for the door.

Mal caught him up by the arm, his grip firm, but a lot more gentle than earlier in the day. His voice was entreating, but edged, and that suited him far too well for Simon’s comfort. “And what do you mean by that, doctor?”

Simon deadpanned, annoyed with his banter. Mal was a clever man, he knew exactly what Simon was referring to. He might not be leading their encounters but that hardly meant that he didn’t intend for them to happen, and frequently if he could help it. He lifted his eyebrows lightly, summoned some steel, and told him as directly and simply as he could manage. “Malcolm Reynolds, I intend to put my hands on you. And I want there to be all the time in the world when I do. I want you to have nowhere else to be, but with me. I don’t want either of us worrying about being overheard. I will never have that on Serenity, and if it’s the only thing I have to look forward to on this job, so be it.” 

Mal looked taken aback for all of five seconds before he chuckled, asking wryly. “Simon...you do realize if we pull this off, I would spend my share buying whatever privacy I could manage for us, as often as possible. Without thinking twice about it.”

Simon grinned at the sweetness of it, the underlying threat of it, then shook his head. He pulled Mal’s hand up to kiss his knuckles briefly. “That’s a worthwhile investment, but if you think I’m going to wait, you really have no idea how impatient I can be.”


	20. Chapter 20

“I don’t want to run a brokerage no more.”

Jayne’s voice broke the silence. The mercenary was sprawled on one of the outdoor couches with his own personal fifth, bracing it on his thigh and watching the liquid swirl when he flexed. Simon and Mal sat across from him on the other couch, with Zoe and Inara taking the chairs. It was a heavy night, the air thick with the scent of coming rain, river mud, and lavender. When the wind stirred strongly enough a patter of rain fell over the company. Zoe just shook it from her hair, eyes staring at the table between them all, littered with orange peels, a bucket of ice and their various glasses.

Inara’s cheeks were pleasantly flushed, but her usual serene demeanor had faltered ten steps inside the door to her room. For the most part, she didn’t talk, drinking in silence and staring over the railing at the flower fields across the lane.

“There’s a pattern to it.” Mal stated bluntly, drinking straight from the bottle and handing it off to Simon. “I saw it in the papers. No contracts over five years. Rations estimated by weight and age...they fluff the prices a bit. Charge based on the value of the...person. Their skill. Design it in such a way that they tend to overspend their stay...so they stay forever.”

“There’s autopsy reports in every folder.” Simon said aside to Zoe.

“Thing is, those...are blank. Still. On contracts ten years old.” Mal bit off, rubbing at his face, which Simon could only assume was approaching numbness. “No death certificates, no autopsy. And that’s just...the two hundred he gave me as the catalogue for what I had in mind to buy.”

Jayne sneered, grimacing at his whiskey. “We ain’t seen the whole property. Not even close. Like as not they got another compound.”

“That’s my thinking too.” Zoe nodded in agreement. “Something low profile and away from the indentures. They’d have to keep them separated to keep riots from breaking out.”

“They got rifles aplenty for that.” Mal shook his head. “So...how do I get him to offer me slaves instead of Indentures…”

“...Tell him….”Inara started, pulling her feet up to mirror Simon’s curl, brushing a rain drop from her shoulder. “Tell him I’m a soft touch, and I don’t think I could go through the purchasing process again. I’d rather narrow my age range and make a lifelong commitment.”

“He might buy that.” Simon nodded.

Jayne shook his head, crossing his boots at the ankles. “No ‘ffense Inara, but by the time they get to be slaves, they ain’t exactly people anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Mal cut his eyes between the two and Zoe sighed, leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees. He continued, “I tend to think that’s a good line, from a companion. He’s already clocked her as a bleeding heart.”

“What we’ve seen so far is telling, sir.” Zoe knocked back what was left in her glass and began to pour another, muttering over the rising wind. “They take’m on, give them appropriate industry work. The higher end educations get sold pretty quick. Then the specialized skill folk, like mechanics, nurses, mercenaries. But...the rumor is, if you don’t make it off the moon in three years, you’re not likely to at all.”

“World’s saddest ruttin’ petting zoo.”

“After three years, they move you to labor, no matter what your skills are. Your earnings drop accordingly. Age, gender, none of that matters. You got hands, you go to work.” Zoe leaned back again with her whiskey. “Most of the boys we’re shacking with are on year three.”

“So the work get progressively worse.” Simon picked up. “They strangle the hope first, make them think they’ve got a fair shake...then they exhaust them, and by the time their contract is up, they’re either so broke they can’t leave or in debt to the plantation.”

“‘Scuse me.” Jayne sat up, stood up unsteadily, then made his way over to the railing and vomited over the bushes without warning. Everyone winced, but the merc just shook his head, rinsed his mouth out with whiskey and spat, then returned to his couch as though nothing had happened. They stared, and he scratched his beard. “What? I missed the patio. S’fine.”

“Right. Ah… Tell me about the set up. And the kid...guy...person. Thomas.” Mal was gesturing for the bottle so Simon stole a quick sip before passing it back. “How’s the old man’s son end up in a bracelet?”

“Don’t know yet, but it’s more’n a bracelet.” Jayne’s head lolled back on the couch. “Boy’s branded."

There was silence. Mal prompted, “You gonna elaborate?”

  
“Ain’t much to tell, Mal, he came out the shower with no shirt on and his left shoulder got the same ruttin’ mark as the horses. Big ‘A’ with a border round it. Couple of years old maybe. Doc would know.”

“Doc’s not that interested. Border you said, not columns?” Mal bit off, and Jayne nodded distractedly. “I wonder if that’s what permanent contract meant. On the forms, there was a box to check, at the end. Renew or Permanent.”

“What if we ask to see the people that are over contract and without a DC/Auto?”

“...What?”

“Death cert and autopsy, sorry.” Simon raked a hand through his hair. “They’re presumably not dead, they’d legally have to present the people to us if we insisted.”

“That’s a thought, yeah.” Mal and Zoe both nodded.

Zoe picked it up, answering the rest of Mal’s question. “Aside from that, I haven’t seen any other brands...and no one is talking about it. We got them riled up our first night here, asking for war stories. Shitfaced bunch of boys, all Simon’s age. No one mentioned it. So either he’s a special case or they don’t make a scene when it happens.”

Mal shook his head, bracing his temple in his fingers. “It costs a million credits to register a brand, and half its present-day value to alter it after that. He ain’t a special case. No one pays that kinda money without intent.”

Silence fell again, and they all sat thinking on that for a second. It was Simon that turned to him, whiskey-brave and asked, “How do you know that?”

“They destroyed Shadow during my sophomore year at university. Intercepted three evacuation cruisers afterwards. Sent’em all here.” Mal cleared his throat, raising his voice slightly. “My mother was on one of them. This is where I lost track of her.”

“.. _._ _Shèngjié de gǒu shǐ_ , Mal.” Holy shit, Simon breathed, and he had to stand and take a few steps in shock, looking back at Zoe, but she shook her head. She hadn’t known either. “Is she?”

“She’s not in the stack they gave me. I specified experienced rancher with animal husbandry, 40-60 years of age preferrable.” Mal turned his face into the wind, sighing. “So..she’s not for sale. Either dead or sold already. I don’t know.”

“Malcolm, how could…” Inara’s voice broke, and she took a second to regroup. “How could you stand to come back here?”

“It’s not like I can lose her twice.” Mal just shrugged, and Simon felt that wound to his core, returning to his seat with his mind full of River’s smiling face. He couldn’t imagine not knowing.

Trust Jayne, as always, to ask, “What were you studying? In school?”

“...Literature.” Mal answered bluntly. It took a second for the grin to crack his face, Jayne’s too, and then they both were laughing. Zoe smiled into her glass while Inara and Simon exchanged dumbfounded looks but it was infectious. Mal’s laughter gave them permission and even Inara collapsed into her seat with a hand over her mouth, trying to smother the giggle. It took them a minute to come around, and something easy clicked in Simon’s head. They’d needed this. Needed a real laugh, and he looked at their drunken faces adoringly, stealing the bottle back from the captain as he struggled with his composure.

“I’m sorry, you what now?” Inara gasped, dabbing at her eyeliner. “Literature?”

“I was gonna be a _gorram_ teacher, don't you know?”

“ _Fèihuà_! Bullshit!” Jayne decreed, pointing at him with his bottle as Inara threw a hand up.

“Yeah, no...I don’t--” Mal cleared his throat trying again. “I don’t remember why. I just liked reading.”

“So, what, is that Professor Tightpants now? Who’s going to tell Kaylee and Wash? OW, _ta ma de_ , I’m joking, Mal.” Simon rubbed his ribs where Mal’s elbow had struck him. Something occurred to him at that, and he waved his hand drunkenly to get everyone’s attention again, “Wait, ah...tonight. At dinner. I got the job. Thomas is going to set me up with a clinic space and let me work through the last two years’ arrivals, doing their annual check up.”

“That’s good work, doc.” Zoe muttered approvingly, and he beamed at her.

“Yeah, means that Inara might be able duck out on schedule, and...we can find our guy.”

“That was good work, Simon, I didn’t think he’d give it to you that easy.” Mal confirmed, crossing his legs.  

Simon started to reply, but the wind picked and brought a curtain of rain with it over the balcony. They’d all been waiting for it, some unspoken agreement that demanded the storm be enjoyed. The doctor settled deeper into the couch, letting his arm rest against Mal’s as he turned his face into it. Inara’s perfume and the incense suffusing her clothing caught on the breeze, followed by the heady scent of lavender from across the lane. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and Zoe sighed contentedly, murmuring. “Wash will be jealous he missed this.”

“I love storms.” Inara echoed pulling her hair over one bare shoulder.

Jayne snorted, rubbing the water from his face, “They must not kill people on the planet you're from. Mal knows what I mean.”

“Mhm. Don’t think they have to worry much here. Mountains would break up the storm before a tornado could form.”

“River will be jealous too.” Simon mentioned, thumb brushing the rain on the side of his glass. “Wash said she’s making good progress on the kitchen.”

“Is that what she was on about ‘fore we left? The flowers and shit?”

“Yeah, she’s...doing a few new things in the kitchen while we’re gone. To keep her busy, you know?”

“Jayne doesn’t like flowers, so we’re probably going to have a real avant garde bouquet of grenades on one wall.” Mal ribbed.

“I got a ruttin’ flower, alright?!” Jayne snapped indignantly, and everyone paused in surprise. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, settling against the arm of the couch to look over the darkened field dancing in the wind. “That one. Always liked it. Tried to describe it to her, but I’m shit with words, so who knows what she’ll come up with.”

“She’ll get it.” Simon smiled, nodding to himself. “It’s called lavender, Jayne.”

“Lavender.” Jayne repeated,  scratching at his beard again. “S’nice word.”

They lapsed into silence again for a few moments, all thoroughly soaked at this point, but no one seemed to mind. If anything, they were loathe to leave this momentary haven, keenly aware of their missing parties. After a while, however, Zoe stood and waved her goodnight, and Jayne clambered up to follow her. They made their way down the balcony to the back of the house and the access stairwell there, waving to the passing sentry when they reappeared on the road. Inara sighed, unfolding her legs as her skirts swished heavily to her ankles. “I better go. It’s not good for the silk.”

She dusted her clothes off as though the rain would obey and murmured good night to them both, turning away towards her room.

Mal and Simon remained on the couch until they truly risked falling asleep there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulgent fic is indulgent. 
> 
> If you're curious, Zoe told her foxglove. Inara suggested jasmine to replace the ivy border. Kaylee likes pear blossoms and blue chickory, and Wash likes dahlias. Mal likes anything with color, he's easy like that. Simon prefers lilies and iris, which are rich-folk flowers in my head.
> 
> Sorry for the mostly-dialogue chapter again, it's just too easy with these characters and their chemistry.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys, you're the bestest. 
> 
> Fair warning for this chapter, it features animal abuse and a degree of righteous fury as a result, and I'm sorry in advance.

Inara managed her exit with grace, following an only slightly feigned argument at the dinner table between her and the captain. Simon smiled bracingly at the owner’s son when he caught his eye between the banter, asking silently if he should be concerned. Simon shook his head. Camden was not present for that meal or the one before, and Thomas had explained that his father was a quiet man who preferred his own company. Mal and Inara took this chance to have it out about whether or not he was making enough progress on the hiring scheme. The gist of the argument was that Inara was ready to leave but her bids had not been confirmed, so there was no definitive headcount Mal could give her that seemed like enough. 

A stranger at the table would never have known the warm curl of her tinted lips and the wrinkle of her nose as she played the harp for his sister. This woman sharing the meal absolutely dripped cash and the impatience that interred. She interrupted, she silenced with a wave, she dragged points long settled back into rotation, and all with an impeccable demeanor that kept it just shy of being rude. Mal, for his part, didn’t seem to be acting. He put off a physical heat in his irritation that Simon could feel from four inches away. He was curt, but respectful, and aside from the way his thigh felt absolutely rigid when he pressed his knee to it, Mal was the picture of composure under pressure. Inara tried very hard to rattle him. 

The intent was to paint Mal as a man with a level head, something that luckily happened to be true. Simon, for his part, was uninterested, bored with the routine to show that it was very common. While they hadn’t quite rehearsed it, the veneer of aggravation on Inara’s part was genuine. Mal pressed her before they came downstairs, hashing out exactly why he deserved criticism and how she was to deliver it in terms that made the companion roll her eyes. She’d walked out on him mid-sentence, still closing an emerald pin in one ear. 

Simon hadn’t realized it was intentional until Mal turned back and smirked. 

Thomas bought it, however, marveling at Inara from the corner of his eye and watching Mal deflect without denying. They didn’t settle until dessert arrived, and Simon had been through three glasses of wine at that point. Thomas offered to escort Inara and Zoe back to their shuttle in the morning, since it seemed a trip to Persephone was in order to finalize the property transaction, anyway. 

The next morning, Simon and Mal descended the front steps together as the silver shuttle picked up over the tree line and the low rumble of the engine carried over the fields. The Simon bit back a pang of jealousy that they were headed home and he was not. The captain set out for the stable and almost left him there, staring at the horizon wistfully. 

Jayne met them at the corral fence, pulling his gloves off. Behind him, a stream of workers exited the barn, each with a horse on a simple lead. He and Mal spoke lowly while Simon lingered a few feet away with his medic bag slung over one shoulder, watching the road. His eyes were invariably drawn to the sentry station. The rifle barrel remained, swaying slightly as the man in the booth surveyed the road. Further down the lane, a wagon parked outside the furthest cabin, and people were making their way to it for the morning ride to their workstations. A telltale black cowboy hat stood off to one side, his back to the stables. He wondered if Camden did this everyday, or just for the indentures’ first official work day. 

A horse’s scream brought him back to the paddock. Mal and Jayne trailed off as a huge draft horse broke into the sunlight  at a canter, circling around his handler in clear agitation. The man himself was stocky but near his height and still dwarfed by the animals’ shoulders. Simon frowned to watch him jerk the stallion’s bit in an attempt to bring him to heel, waving a coiled bull whip in one his other hand. The horse reared again and nearly took the handler off his feet. 

“Must be new.” Mal muttered, and Simon wasn’t sure if they were talking about the man or the horse.

“Nah, just mean as shit.” Jayne answered with a raised eyebrow. 

Simon still wasn’t sure who they were talking about. He glanced back at the hat, but Camden was now speaking with one of his foremen. The gate slammed shut behind the horse with more force than necessary, and the stallion startled, jerking the rope once more. It was wrapped around the man’s wrist, and his angry shout and barrage of cursing made even Mal hesitate. 

It escalated faster than he could follow. The horse reared again, and the rope nearly dislocated the man’s shoulder. He gave up, stalking up to grab him by the bridle. The stallion’s nose flared, ears back, and then the handler balled his fist and punched the horse squarely in the face twice before springing back. It bolted, bellowing and favoring the struck eye in a way that made Simon sick. Mal froze.

The whip unfurled while the horse was still making panicked circles in one corner of the paddock. Mal braced both hands on the fence as the crack rang out and Jayne finally turned around again to see what brought the commotion on. 

“...He hit him.” Mal ground out, but before his boot could make the first rung of the fence, the second followed and Simon blanched. 

He hadn’t known a whip could break skin. Rather, he’d known, but he’d never... _ seen _ it. It wasn’t a very common wound. The sound itself echoed like a gunshot, and the horse flinched, a pale line of flesh appearing through its coarse hide and he’d have sworn there was a half second between the strike and the blood. It poured in a thick red sheet from the animal’s hindquarter, wrapping around the line of its thigh. 

He was not a vet. He’d never seen an animal handled in this fashion, much less a person, and before it could register that the captain was moving, Mal was over the fence in long strides. He gave the horse a wide berth and slammed the gate release pulling it between himself and the wild animal as a barrier. It danced sullenly, the wounded leg twitching, before bolting for the opening and out into the open field with the others. 

“Is that normal?” Simon asked Jayne, his mouth gone dry. 

Jayne shook his head, resting on his elbow with a deep frown. “No. Not like that. Might suckerpunch one that’s learned to hold its breath so’s the saddle’ll be loose, but...not like that.”

The handler was coiling his whip as Mal approached, every line of his body speaking aggression as he pointed after the horse, but Mal’s fist connected with his slack jaw before he could utter a word. Jayne snorted, but the captain was hardly done. He pulled the man back to his feet by his shirt and the second strike could be heard from their position at the fence. Simon had never seen rage on his features before, but it was there; he wore it like a heavy coat. The captain shook his hand out once, and then pulled back again.  _ Again _ . The man’s lip was a wash of blood, he struggled to spit it out, but Mal gave him no chance to inhale between blows. He dropped him, stalking a sharp circle around him, then planted a boot in his shoulder blades and broke his nose in the dirt. A few of the other hands were watching in stunned silence from the barn doorway, but no one seemed capable of stepping in.

A heavy hand landed on Simon’s shoulder, startling him out of the violence. Camden watched a moment longer, and Simon struggled for words, mind racing to explain, but he couldn’t really. He wasn’t part of this. There were no words. Mal stalked one more circle, snatching the whip out of the dirt and inspecting the cracker and the taper of the leather...it was starkly black and heavy, even from here, full old blood. He lapsed again, and Simon felt Camden’s hand tighten conspicuously as he shook the man’s frame with both hands again, yelling damning things in his face. When he punched him again, the sound was fleshier, thicker. He knew without looking the damage the captain was inflicting. Knew he didn’t have the tools to fix it, not in his paltry clinic room.

“Call your man off, doctor.” Camden said with a heavy sigh, ducking under the stile. Jayne’s eyes widened as he straightened and strode off toward the pair. 

Simon still couldn’t find his voice. It was Jayne that cupped both hands around his mouth and bellowed. “MAL!

The set of his chin when he swung round said that, given the chance, the fight was far from over. The sight of Camden closing the gap between them made him drop the tattered shirt and broken man, and Simon blanched when he moved toward the plantation owner, whip in hand. He held it up for him to see, still talking harshly, not a stitch of apology in his manner--

And Camden walked right past him. 

Mal stopped in confusion, turning back in time to watch the owner pull his pistol from his sage and thistle belt and then the doctor learned that the shot was much louder than the whip had been, in hindsight. Simon sank in on himself in shock, swallowing bile at the sound of brain matter in the dirt. He could see it, in his mind’s eye, the bits of skull and teeth, the membranes like cracked egg shells. He groaned into his hand and chose to look elsewhere.  Mal’s hands were shaking, his knuckles already shades of purple and black, chest heaving. He looked back at the two of them, frowning at the sight of the doctor holding himself upright with the fence. Camden holstered his gun and waved to the two young men in the barn door without a word. 

Mal made it back to them first, his hands white knuckled on the whip. Simon swallowed thickly. Jayne seemed unperturbed. It was all too clear now, how and why the captain had so many scars. Rage like that had a way of surfacing, he knew. It made him question, made him wonder what he knew of the captain, what did he  _ really  _ know? 

Enough. Enough that he knew he wanted that rage directed outwards, at his enemies, now and forever. If he spent the rest of his life hiding River in its shadow, perhaps they had a chance in hell of surviving.

Camden’s arms swung at his side as he came to join them, and there was silence for a moment. Simon looked between the two, muttering, “I might have...been able to do something about the fractures.”

“No need, doctor.” Camden shook his head, returning Mal’s level gaze with a shrewd look of his own. “He wasn’t worth as much as the horse he injured.”

“Might agree on that point.” Mal bit off, offering the whip. 

Camden considered it, but didn’t take it, pointing instead to the taller of the two men crossing to the body with a wheelbarrow. He had red hair and lanky frame, his expression neutral. “That’s his replacement. Teach him the right way to break a horse in. I’ll pay you.” 

“...I could do that.” Mal nodded slowly, shaking his hand off again. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken something, Simon thought dully. He watched the captain pull his boot knife out and braced it harshly in the coil of the whip. The leather resisted, but parted with a few short jerks. Mal threw the frayed ends into the grass by Jayne’s feet. “Got a vet on site?”

“Thomas. Should be along any minute now. He hated that hand, you’ve done him a kindness.” Camden tucked his hands in his pockets. “Saved us a spot of legal trouble after, though, putting him down. He wasn’t yours to kill.”

“I just hit him.”

“Hit him enough. I know what that looks like.” 

The rancher was right, the man likely wouldn’t have lived through the week. Simon recalled the passage in the contracts about how it was illegal for third parties to execute servants without direct provocation.

“We...were coming to talk to you.” There, was his voice, somewhat muted but still there. “About the clinic work.” 

“Thomas. He’ll get you set up, doctor.” Camden answered quietly, looking between the three of them. “I was worried. Serra’s got cash, but she ain’t made for this.” 

He turned pointedly to Simon. “Neither are you, son.”

“No.” Simon shook his head. “I’m made for what I do.” 

“Need both sides to do the job right.” Camden nodded to himself, watching the young men turn back to the barn. The dead man’s hand hung over the side of the barrel and Simon was very determinedly not going to look at that, anymore. Ever. The rancher tsked, “I’ll sell to you.”

Mal raised his eyebrow, following his gaze to the dead man. “I just cost you a small fortune.”

“You got both sides. The one to fix ‘em and the one to kill ‘em, should need arise.” Camden stepped away, talking over his shoulder. “Most folk only got one or the other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no, Mal don't play that shit. Raised on a ranch with forty hands? There are no horse problems, only people problems. Poor Simon, though. 
> 
> "Remember, shoot the man, not the horse. Dead horse is cover, scared horse is a whole lot of chaos and confusion." The line that inspired this scene, from the episode "Heart of Gold"....I veered away from it plot-wise, but it was so telling to me. 
> 
> So...imagine how this is going to go when we get to the people part....
> 
> ....It's 4am. I'm going to bed before I spoil my own gahtdayum story. Night folk.


	22. Chapter 22

Simon was working very, very hard on getting drunk. He was not a whiskey drinker by nature, and the first two glasses were always half water, just to adjust to the bite of it going down. By the time he was warm enough that he could appreciate the brown sugar and fire, he was a third of the way through the bottle, no longer needed to dilute it. Sake, wines, rum and gin were his usual vices, but he’d discovered after leaving the academy that those were only available in the inner circle. Whiskey was cheaper to make and sell, and moonshine and vodka were the poisons  of choice in the outer ring. Drinking alone was different from drinking with his newfound crew, so he rarely indulged. It allowed too much thinking, allowed him to take those neatly aligned boxes of trauma out of the deep storage of his mind and shake their contents to the floor. 

He sat by lamplight, tempted to light a fire, but it was far too hot for that, even at night. Instead, he’d thrown the veranda doors open to a chorus of crickets. Thomas had stopped by late in the day, knocked on his door and apologized for not setting him up as he’d planned. He’d had dirt under his nails, on his boots. Burying the man Mal had beaten and Camden had murdered…

Simon had waved off the apology and told him goodnight, closing the door with a plastic smile. Immediately changed into his most comfortable do-nothing clothes and broke into Mal’s empty room for the bottle of whiskey. He hadn’t seen the captain for the rest of the day and didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. He was surprised by how lonely he was, how quiet the huge mansion could be when he was the only one in it. Around ten, he wandered down the veranda to Inara’s reading room, but a maid had come in the day, and all that remained was the faintest trace of her perfume. Looking over the books, he pulled a few down that he knew she’d like and resolved to stash them in his suitcase for her. 

After that, he’d gone downstairs and found the service kitchen. He’d skipped dinner and made no apology for it. There was something freeing about moving through someone else’s space in the dark, barefoot in his robe and sleep pants, glancing out the window as sentry lanterns wandered past. He inspected every room, partially curiosity, partially caution, and confirmed that he and the captain were truly the only people staying in the building. He had no idea what he was doing, looking for. Opening the fridge, he paused for a long time to just look at the food. There were fresh eggs, not powdered. Real milk and fresh fruit. A wax paper package of salted bacon, and more green vegetables than he’d seen in one place in years. It was luxurious, and all of it tasted like ash. He took an orange, ate it on the immaculate stainless steel countertop, and revelled in the scent of the oils on his fingers. They were his favorite, especially cold. 

He took the rind upstairs and twisted it into his whiskey glass under ice, then resolutely kept drinking. After a few more hours, he heard Mal on the stairs, and his bedroom close. It took a few minutes to hear his boots on the veranda, and Simon wondered to himself if he’d left both of their doors open and the lamp on as some sort of unconscious invitation. 

The doctor turned his head over his shoulder as Mal entered and approached the back of his chair. He had an empty glass in hand. As Simon poured for him, a heavy hand rested on the back of his neck, the touch gentle but contemplative. The captain nodded his thanks and pulled away to the chair opposite him, leaving the lamp off. He was familiar with that thousand yard stare, and let him drink in silence for a few moments before asking, “How’d it go?”

“He offered me a job.” Mal sighed, brushing a hand over his face. “I beat a man to death and got a job offer out of it.”

  
“A real job, or a contract?” Simon asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone and failing. 

“He took me up to his cabin this afternoon to discuss it. Offered to buy me out of Inara’s and adopt those terms to his own. Said I could keep my ship. He’s been in the market for a reliable method of livestock transportation.” Mal swallowed, muttering into his glass. “Direct quote.”

Simon shook his head, looking at the ceiling. That wasn’t surprising. He wondered if he’d get the same option, or if there was a legitimate doctor somewhere on this god forsaken rock that deserved to be shot for participating. 

“I’m...sorry. About earlier.” 

Simon turned to look at him, but the apology seemed larger than an offering to Simon alone. It was as though it was stated to the universe itself and he frowned a bit, choosing his words carefully. “It’s...not the first time you’ve killed a man in front of me, Mal.”

“It is like that.” Mal wasn’t looking at him, staring at a fixed point in the floor. “No son of Alliance was worth that.”

“It wasn’t about him, though.”

Mal chuckled bitterly, refilling his glass. “No horse is either.”

Simon nudged the remaining orange peel and glass of ice over encouragingly. For once, it was the captain that had catching up to do. “There’s a kind of honesty to that violence that I’d never witnessed before. Cleaned up after it, sure, but...usually, I only see the aftermath. The kind of violence I’m used to is a lot more sophisticated.”

“You mean River?” 

“Yes.” Simon nodded, not really sure where these words were coming from, not sure at all why he wasn’t able to summon them immediately following the incident, when Mal probably needed them most. Walking away to solitude had seemed his only recourse at the time. “I wasn’t...upset with you. It was just upsetting. Jarring, really. They took River apart and put her back together again with sharp edges and unfinished...violence. I know what they did, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fix it. There was something...freeing, in that moment.”

Mal didn’t speak, watching him think it through.

“Right up until the gunshot, I was racing through my options to fix what you were taking apart. The technical aspects of rebuilding a man’s face, the chemical ones of keeping his brain from swelling and killing him in his sleep. I don’t romanticize death, as a rule, but the shot was a kindness. And I was relieved that I wouldn’t be tasked with trying to save his life.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“...Well, for the record, I’m not sure you should be feeling anything.” Simon offered gently, sipping at his whiskey again. “And that, from me, is saying something. Death serves a purpose. Doing what I do is a constant war to keep it in its place, but it’s like...fighting a god. You never forget the first patient you lose, but you also don’t forget the first one you let go. ”

“Look at you, telling war stories. Zoe would be so proud.” There was no sarcasm in the statement but it made him smile. 

“I don’t have the same callouses, but I still know a thousand ways to kill you. Just because I know what makes you tick.” He shifted in his seat, curling his legs to the other side and relaxing back into the chair’s cushion. “It’s a different kind of power. Utterly impractical, but delicate. Draws the kind of people that like killing, actually, only...it challenges us to do the opposite. It’s a lot harder to put people back together.” 

“That’s a fact.” Mal knocked his shot back and the next glass was bigger with orange and ice, which he rested against his colorful knuckles. “I managed not to break anything this time.”

“Nothing of yours.” Simon teased, rolling his head back to smirk. “Your knuckles are practically stone at this point, I know from experience.”

Mal winced, “I wouldn’t.”   


“You wouldn’t.” Simon confirmed, nodding. “I know. You would never do to me what you did to that man today.”

“I thought it might worry you.”

“No.” Simon answered succinctly, but heavily, giving the word as much weight as he could. “If anything, my first thought...after, was that I was lucky to have a man like you between me, River, and the ‘Verse.” 

The captain paused, looking him over. Simon didn’t falter, considering his drink and his words, stirring the former with the tip of his finger. Mal mused quietly, “You never sit like that in front of people. Curled up.”

“It’s not proper.” Simon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face to discover his cheeks had gone numb. “Just comfortable. I get cold easily.”

The captain had smile hidden in the corner of his mouth as he took a drink, but it faded after a few seconds. “Simon, I’m not sure I can leave this place like this.”

“We can always pick up a graft cannon on Persephone.” Simon mused. “We could make it just...not a place anymore.”

Mal gave a real chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “No...no, not like that. There’s a lotta folk here who don’t deserve that end.”

“I know...It would have to be concise, whatever we do.” Simon polished off his glass and set it aside, stretching. “Are we? Going to do something?”

Mal sounded distracted when he answered, “I don’t know yet. Haven’t thought it through.”

“Well...you know we’re on board.”

“Don’t go to mentioning it yet, if you don’t mind. To anyone. Not until I know what I’m doing.”

“I won’t.” They lapsed into silence again and Simon let himself look the captain over in the warm light. He always looked warm, like he carried sunlight in his skin. He tried imagine Mal before the war, his age, just another student on a university campus and found that he couldn’t. That person seemed like a bad caricature of the man sitting before. 

He found he adored the rough edges, in their entirety. There was no deception in the presentation of this person, and that was refreshing after being raised in a society that judged value on heritage and consummate skills. Simon had worked very hard to become someone he could be proud of, and he knew that Mal had just...always been that. Always been this person, this steady, unshakable foundation of confidence and cleverness. He lived through the shortest, bloodiest war in living memory and it stained every facet of him, but there was depth of spirit that Simon knew was rare to encounter. He wouldn’t take it for granted. He’d meant what he said, he didn’t know how he came to be on this man’s ship of all the others in the universe, but it wasn’t until Mal offered to let him stay that he realized what he’d found. All of them really, that he’d found all of them, and he was being allowed to make a home there. It wasn’t just another foxhole, it wasn’t a nameless motel on a backwater moon, it wasn’t some remote village with rudimentary cabins and hard water, he’d found an actual life because of this man. 

He let himself want, felt it creep into his features and didn’t care. He’d give this man the world if he wanted it. Simon hoped he knew that. Intended to show him, given enough time. Hell, every minute of his life was borrowed time now, he might as well make the most of it. The idea occurred to him slowly, somewhere in his appraisal of the captain’s mouth and throat, the line of his chest as he closed his eyes and became comfortably drunk. Simon didn’t get to see Mal relax very often. Maybe if they pulled this job off, they would have more time. They could make more time. 

He’d uncurled from his seat silently and made up his mind. The doctor moved from his chair across the few steps between them and brushed his knee against the captain to warn him of his presence. 

Mal opened his eyes, and Simon watched him rifle through several emotions, concern, confusion, comprehension, and finally heat. The doctor sank to his knees as the captain set his glass aside and leaned forward to thread his fingers into Simon’s hair. This kiss had no deadline, slow and musing and exploratory. Simon had been told he was a good kisser years ago, in another life. He felt rusty, but Mal’s heart raced just the same, and he could pinpoint the exact second the captain lost his breathe, smiling against his mouth. 

Simon let his hands slide up the older man’s thighs, pressing him just slightly with tongue and teeth until he heard the older man, a low groan between them. Mal operated with a degree of intensity that Simon was learning to love, felt trapped in his chest a scarce two inches from his own. It was easy to escalate with him, he was learning, just a tilt of his head and the sweep of his tongue, and those hands slowly began to tighten into fists as Mal held him still for the attention. He took the opportunity to work the captain’s belt open in deft movements, cursing when Mal pulled away as the buckle clicked. 

He hung there, inches from the man’s mouth while Mal looked him over, muttered quietly. “Simon...you’ve been drinking.”

“And I’m just me, right now.” Simon breathed, closing his eyes and refusing to stop as he sorted out the button and closure, relishing the emanating heat under his hands. He slipped hand lower, cupping Mal through the fabric and pleased to find him halfway there. “I’m not a doctor, not a brother, a fugitive, student, or disowned son. I’m just Simon.”

Mal exhale shakily at the touch and the doctor ran his nose along the the line of his jaw as his head dipped, continuing, “And I want this very badly.”

He felt the full body shiver as Mal cursed under his breath, and leaned forward to reclaim his mouth if only for the distraction. One hand loosened to rest on the back of his neck as the other rearranged to get a better grip in the thick black hair at the nape of his neck. Simon’s hands slipped around the captain’s back to pull him forward and Mal tilted his head back with that handful and kissed him dizzy. It was Simon’s turn to lose his breath, nails biting at the small of his back, until he remembered his intentions and brought them around. 

It was harder than he thought, to stay coherent under the sensual onslaught of that mouth. He wondered if Mal would fuck him this slowly the first time, half hoped, but he was very sure he’d leave him a crazy wreck if that were the case. He couldn’t imagine, with their tendency to escalate, that their first night would leave either of them whole. 

He worked his hand into the opening of Mal’s clothes, pulling his shirt out of the way impatiently and shoving his smallclothes below. Mal twitched against his mouth when he wrapped his hand around the hot shaft of his cock, and Simon kissed him insistently when he tried to pull away again. Let him, let him touch, let him have this, he poured every ounce of desire he had into the connection. His hands were not shaking this time, Mal’s were. 

Only when he was absolutely confident he’d lulled the man into complacency did he pull back, meeting Mal’s eyes. His breath caught in that dark stare, but he hesitated only a second before very pointedly sitting back on his heels and lowering his head.

If Mal had shaken before, this was some sort of true epiphany, because Simon heard him curse as he slipped the head into the heat of his mouth and pulled. He had no idea how long it had been for the captain, but the welcome heat on his tongue was completely intoxicating, the taste of him, the weight. He pulled back and sank lower, basking in the broken sound it earned him, the hands leaving his hair to grip his shoulders instead. The doctor took his time, learning the exact pressure that made his hips move to buck, the sweep of his tongue that made him run from his pleasure again, and repeated that for good measure, arms returning their circle around his hips to keep him within reach. Mal groaned above him, momentarily beyond words, but Simon suspected they would return if he just--

“Fuck.” Learned how to move, letting the slow drag of skin answer for him, and -- “ _ Simon _ .”

Yes, that was perfect, he could feel the tension in the captain’s thighs as he pushed them apart and took him  _ deeper _ . That demanding touch translated to a hand returning to his hair and a tremor in the man’s legs, and Simon stilled briefly, dragging it out as long as he could. He continued, every movement measured, until Mal was chanting curses under his breath and the doctor could hear his heels digging into the carpet. 

This time, the demand was made, and Simon obliged, shivering under the grip in his hair as Mal helped him move incrementally faster, and when he started to slow again, Simon released his hips and buried him to the hilt in his throat. It was permission, it was a request he didn’t know how to make otherwise, and he heard himself moan with the first tentative rock of the captain’s hips. The hesitation only lasted seconds, and Simon hung there suspended between the grip in his hair and the steady, sweet stroke of Mal fucking his mouth.

He felt him tensing, felt the rigid line of his stomach and the new flush of heat in the cock on his tongue as Mal drew close. Simon made some encouraging sound against it and he saw the seconds blur between Mal’s control and Mal coming apart. The captain stood shakily, driven to his feet in those final moments, and Simon compensated when he lost his rhythm, pulling gently with his mouth until Mal came. He heard his name, over and over, Simon, Simon,  _ Simon _ , and that grip became truly painful for the span of a breath as the captain used it to steady himself in the aftermath. 

Reluctantly, the doctor pulled back, burying his nose in the crux of the man’s thigh and inhaling his scent as he waited for the room to stop spinning. He pulled himself to his feet and tucked his nose into the older man’s throat as they both caught their breath, stunned to silence by the enormity of it. Without a word, Simon took him by the wrist and pulled him towards the bed. They’d deal with the rest of the conversation in the morning. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, thanks for chatting with me so much in the comments, you guys. You make a lonesome writer warm and fluffy, I love hearing your thoughts.

“We’re awake, aren’t we?” Simon asked groggily, staring at the brocade wallpaper in the early morning light. He felt the heavy dip of the captain in the mattress behind him, the heat of him under the blankets very different from waking with River in a similar position. They weren’t touching, and he was surprised by how disappointed he was at that fact. Still mostly dressed, he groaned faintly and shoved at the fabric of his robe where it had bunched under his hips in the night. Mal chuckled behind him, and he felt faint fingers trace the line of his shoulder.

“Awake and thinking.” 

“I wake up in stages.” Simon admitted, snuggling into his blanket stubbornly. “Think out loud.”

“Here I was behaving myself.” 

Simon’s eyes snapped open at that, cutting to the side. He leaned partially back until the captain’s smug expression came into view. He was shirtless, though he’d slept in his pants. Simon remembered fumbling with the shirt and both of them giving up with a general to-hell-with-it before collapsing into his bed not nearly long enough ago to warrant an early morning. The light in the room was still amber. “...I can be convinced to wake. What are we thinking about?”

“Things we don’t have time for.” 

Simon groaned and Mal did laugh at him then. He felt fingers trace around the collar of his robe and then sink below, pulling it off the line of his shoulder insistently. “Take this off.”

The doctor obliged with the minimal amount of movement required, because thinking did not require movement, if he recalled correctly, that was the whole point. Mal tugged and adjusted until Simon’s back was bared to him, leading to a bit of a nonverbal argument regarding the final position of the blanket over his person. Simon found himself grinning, then laughing gently until a firm arm slid around his waist and hauled him bodily back against another expanse of skin.

He forgot how to breathe, much less laugh, in that second. He stilled, marvelling at the way his heart picked up merrily in his ears. After testing that grip, he felt the captain smile into the crux of his throat when he could not budge an inch, and brushing against the captain’s-- “Ah... _ thinking _ . I see.”

“There’s the top three percent.” 

Simon elbowed him sharply and was rewarded with sharp teeth replacing the heat of his mouth, and whatever small rebellion he’d mustered at the jab stuttered out and left him hanging. He froze, focused on his next breath, and the one after that, slowly relaxing until the captain perceived his messaged taken. Mal released him, and Simon shivered under the heat of his tongue as he soothed the mark and muttered, “I wonder how much of that it takes to bruise you.”

The words did wicked things in the pit of Simon’s stomach, and he did not quite tilt his head away in offering, but with the barest forward shift of his leg and tilt of his chest, Mal was crowding him. 

“And it’s a marvel to me, how warm your skin is.” Mal continued, surrendering his grip on Simon’s hip to run the flat of his hand over his taut stomach and up to his chest. The broad stroke reversed and did not pause, skirting above the hem of his pants until he could cup Simon through them. “Especially here.”

Simon’s hips twitched forward of their own accord, he’d swear to it, and Mal made an appreciative sound against his skin as he pulled Simon’s knees apart, petting the line of his thigh where the blood ran thickest. Simon looked, he couldn’t help himself, picking his head up slightly. Without a word, Mal’s other arm eased under his head, fingers playing through his hair. Simon shivered, distracted by the lean line of his dark cotton sleepwear against the rougher black covering Mal’s thigh, the way he hung there, spread. The down stroke settled over his cock again, more awake than the rest of him by a decent measure and Simon inhaled sharply, willing himself to be still. 

Mal continued petting him for a few minutes, maddening and thorough, until Simon pressed back against him impatiently. He felt the captain shake his head, pulling his thigh back until they lined up perfectly and the doctor’s heart skipped a few beats, tense. “It’s on my mind this morning. That I could take you like this. Or…”

He rolled, and Simon had already lost, he was sure of it, as the captain settled over his back with his full weight, that damned knee still between his. Simon shivered beneath him, arching into those fingers when they threaded back into his hair with the faintest bite of a grip. Mal rocked his hips, pressing him into the mattress, and Simon was ashamed of the sound he made, glad for the pillow--

No, no, there was the grip, holding his head up sharply as he repeated the motion and Simon’s back arched back against the pressure, groaning, “Nghh, Mal, that’s…”

“It is.” Mal agreed, his tone dipping well into that intentional range of burning coal that drove him mad. He felt the captain’s other knee nudging his thighs apart and a sharp grip on his hip guided him as they both went to their knees. The captain merely leaned into his shoulders to stress the arc of his back and this was worse somehow, more exposed, borderline depraved in comparison to the first two. 

His cock should  _ not  _ have been so enthusiastic about the predicament. Mal gave a sigh that was closer to a growl, trailing nails down his taut shoulders, and Simon jumped...or tried to, the other hand was very insistent that he stay where he was. 

“You’re thinking too hard about this one. I think you’d let me.” Mal uttered, snapping his hips sharply enough that Simon fell back to the mattress and seized the opportunity to flip over, pinned immediately by the heat in the older man’s stare. Mal slipped his hands under both knees and hauled him back into reach. “I think you’d let me do whatever came to mind.”

...Simon found himself nodding, watching the sharp edge in the captain’s expression with that profound sense of imbalance again. He wasn’t even sure what he was losing, what he was giving away and how much the captain was just...taking. More than he’d offered, but he couldn’t find a breath to complain. It was thrilling, really, to be wanted so completely that retaliation was an afterthought and not a driving motive of the encounter. 

Mal eased forward, crowding him again until he was partially in the older man’s lap and Simon brushed a hand over his mouth trying to shake the words loose, “Mal...you said we didn’t have time.”   


“We don’t, but I’ve got all day to pick one. Figure out how I want to take you apart.” 

Simon did not quite blanch at that, because he’d recommended that they wait, but being faced with the reality of that decision was a little more than he could handle, it turned out. He wanted too much, all at once. He wanted  _ right now _ . The look on Mal’s face said he was thirty seconds from obliging if they weren’t careful about the descent. 

Fuck the descent. He made the decision impulsively, and watched Mal’s heat fade into a warning as he wrapped his legs around him and pitched him forward. The captain caught himself with a hand on either side of Simon’s shoulders and groaned a string of curses when  the doctor ground his hips up against the hard line of his cock. “Simon.  _ Simon _ .”  

Frustrated at last, Simon made a grab for either side of his head, pulling him down to mutter harshly in his ear. “You’re going to have to exhaust me if you think I’ll be still for any of this.”

Before he could blink, Mal had taken him by the throat and pinned him back to the bed with altogether more force than strictly necessary, and he did not let go. He held him there, waging war with himself, and curse this man and his infinite common sense, because Simon could see the moment it won out and he unmade the doctor’s hasty decision, pinning him easily from throat to toe tip with a few minor shifts. He opened his mouth, failed, cleared his throat and tried again, eyes piercing as Simon lay beneath him struggling to breathe evenly and fascinated with the echo of his racing heart under the captain’s fingers. “You...will ride me, to exhaustion. And then I will do with you as I see fit. For however long it takes. Dong ma?”

Simon shivered again, throwing his head back against the pillow as he focused on slowing his heart rate. He was not quite pouting, not really, trying very hard not to, schooling his expression into something neutral. He heard the plaintive note in his voice and his pride winced, “You’re really going to make me wait.”

“Simon…” Mal warned again, and the doctor shook his head throwing a hand up--

“No, shhh...I’m plotting my revenge.”

Mal simply raised an eyebrow, hand loosening its grip at last and sliding to rest on his collarbone. “Revenge?”

“Hmm.” Simon made an assenting noise. “It hasn’t come to me yet. But it will. We’ll both be glad for it, but we’ll both know what it takes to put a bruise on me when it’s done.”

The stone stillness to the captain’s frame was utterly gratifying. Simon disentangled himself with as much grace as possible and rolled back towards the wall. “For now, however, I am going back to sleep.”

“...That seems terribly unfair.”

“My work is a favor.” Simon reminded him lightly, trying to get comfortable. “You’re the fool who went and got hired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulgent fic is really, super indulgent. An early morning romp? Yes, please.
> 
> I couldn't just transition to a dark scene after that, really... The romance is important for plot and my entertainment. Are you not entertained?
> 
> More seriously, I come from a heavy darkfic background, so plot chapters from here on will have trigger warnings as needed. I struggled with this because I want to warn without spoiling, but I found a nice format for them. I will warn of triggers in the opening notes, and actually list them in the end-chapter notes. That way my readers with a strong stomach can muscle through, and those of us with mental health to consider still have a chance to skip. Everybody wins.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End notes for Trigger warnings.

The week passed slowly. More often than not, Simon was asleep well before Mal made it in for the night and gone before he woke. He didn’t push, knowing that the work was hard and the secondary objective had to take place outside of it. Simon’s first order of business had been the children on the plantation. He reasoned that, as they were not expected to work, they had no schedules to interrupt. He learned there was a doctor who visited once monthly for a week and saw the patients in a two month rotation. That did little for the meantime, the everyday opportunity for injury. He tended to two boys who’d found a beehive and nearly killed themselves in their cabin and was making his way back to the office-cum-clinic when he ran across Mal with a twelve year old girl in his arms. She could have been Inara’s lost daughter, the resemblance was striking. Her mother trailed along behind, tutting about how she could have carried her, the captain needn’t bother. One look at her ankle said otherwise. 

The daughter’s knee was splinted and Simon put on his brave face for her as Mal set her down on the kitchen table they’d frisked from the servant stable for examinations. The mother explained that about two weeks prior, they’d been walking the water mule between grottos and the child had slipped down a rocky incline. Her mother injured herself getting down to her. 

The fracture itself looked minor, but the pain must have been unbearable. She bore it without complaint. The darling girl watched him with wide, deep eyes as he gave her an anaesthetic shot and a more professional brace for it. He wrote out a prescription of sedatives to help her sleep at night and gave her mother something in a low dose to ease her own. The girl never spoke, and something in the set of her eyebrows says that Simon’s charm was not working on her, at all. He barely teased a smile out of her by the end of the visit. 

All the better, he supposed, that the makings of a strong young woman were in place. Mal let her get a small arm around his neck before hoisting her up and escorting them back. 

Several children, several parents, and the first round of the plantation’s indentured staff later, Simon emerged into the afternoon sun without having found their man. He hadn’t really expected to on the first week, his luck had never been that good. 

Almost never, he corrected himself as Mal’s voice echoed from the barn. He recognized that tone, all sharp edge and steel, the kind that sent folk scurrying to work and away from his line of sight. He wore that coat well, too. Mal’s sentimentality seemed like an article of clothing. Simon could never tell when he was acting and yet, always knew, in the same breath. He was wholly adept at putting on whatever face was required of him at the moment. Simon sometimes envied his social fluidity. He rang like struck iron where Simon’s gilded exterior tended to be more fragile. He was learning to adapt, though slowly, and he was learning to cherish those moments where Mal didn’t feel the need to act at all. He couldn’t wait to be back on Serenity.

The work cleared his head. It was an odd thing, that running through the elements of basic healthcare had become so routine, and his mental bookshelves were slowly filling with files and personas as he treated people, but watching the previously barren space take shape was gratifying. He felt better when he had something to rifle through in his spare moments. 

He smelled the cigar smoke before he actually laid eyes on Jayne, moving to lean on the corner of the building as the mercenary passed him with a small bale of hay in each fist.  He was getting a tan, and he’d known that ranch work was in his background, but he hadn’t expected the degree of relish he’d taken in the work. Simon hadn’t seen Zoe in a day or two, but the captain assured him she was about. It was her way, to feel out the invisible boundaries of a battlefield and lay eyes on every stone. 

Jayne strode over and muttered around the tobacco in his lips, “Found it. The rest of them. Send Mal down after dark.”

XXXX

Simon waited on the veranda this time, refusing to admit that it was nerves that kept him awake. It was hedging two or three in the morning, he’d already witnessed one sentry change from his position on the dark furniture. He’d gone inside long enough to make a show of Mal’s lights going on and off, his shower running, and walked through the room behind the drawn curtains to give the impression of the man in his quarters. Mal, Zoe and Jayne were out there in the thick of the night on catfeet right now, and Simon’s post provided him only the sweeping view of lavender and the black, looming outline of the mountainside against the the purple sky. 

He at once resented being left behind, and valued it very deeply. That they trusted him enough to maintain a presence, make any necessary excuses should the need arise. That they trusted him to put them back together when the time came. 

The doctor jumped sharply at the sound of Mal’s door swinging open, but it was the captain himself who stepped through and he relaxed. They’d made it back safely. Mal made it to the couch and collapsed beside him. He smelled of earth and heavy water, and something foul and nascent that Simon recognized and yet didn’t. Mal crossed his arms over his chest and propped a boot up on the table before them. Simon let him think. 

When he finally spoke, he was taken aback at the raw tone edging the words. “...How old were you when the war started?”

“Ah.” Simon paused, thinking back, carding through faint memories of school and uniforms, the smell of the library when he’d first heard the news. “Twelve. I turned thirteen the month before Shadow.”

“Did you support unification?”

“...I was twelve, Mal, I didn’t support anything.” Simon didn’t like this. The dark cloud lingering in front of Mal’s eyes, the unusual stiffness in his frame. He turned towards him, but made no move to touch, feeling it out. “My best impression was that one moon like this was better than fifty.”

“And now?”

“...I can’t say that’s changed much, though given the chance, I would gladly be rid of this single moon.” 

“It’s never just one.”

“No.” Simon agreed, watching his face. “I know that now. What’s going on?”

“I’m...in it, right now.” Mal answered dully, still not meeting his eyes. “I keep going back. I keep telling myself one thing about who I am, and proving the other.”

“What are you proving?”

“That once you set it aside...set it all aside, give yourself permission to do as you please, you never change. I’m a murderer. I keep coming up with excuses to keep doing it. Tell myself grandiose ideas about the greater good. Swear I’m just living for me and mine, and then I get...punched in the  _ gorram  _ face with the fact that me and mine should be all of us, and I don’t care.” 

“You lost me.” Simon said gently, waiting. 

“...I’m still in the  _ gorram  _ war, and I’m never getting out.” 

“You are out. This is new, this isn’t the same place, or people.” 

“It is.” Mal shook his head, staring at the mud on his boots as though it owed him something. “And I’d kill them all to take this place apart.” 

Simon frowned at that, trying to find a crack in the sentence that would let him ease into comprehension, but it wasn’t there, and Mal wasn’t feeling charitable. He settled on silence, trying to ignore the twist of anxiety of his stomach. 

“They’ll never run out of people. It’s voluntary, until it isn’t. People low enough will keep making this decision, over and over, and I can’t stop that.”

“It’s not your job to.” Simon offered, watching the captain practically snarl at the sentiment. “I can’t save an addict, Mal, but I can treat him. I can’t refuse to treat him based on the long term result of his actions. I can’t let prejudice dictate who’s worthy of my time.”   


“How long did it take you to unlearn that prejudice?” 

Simon bristled slightly at the implication. “Second semester, when we dissected a human fetus.”

Mal didn’t flinch, and Simon shouldn’t have expected him to, really.  He sighed, resting his head on the couch as the studied the captain’s face. “The point is, Mal, to do the work in front of you.”

“I have to destroy the trade. The brand. The opportunities for people to end up here.” 

“Political damage tends to be more far-reaching, but we’re not exactly equipped to--”

“I need you to make people sick, Simon.”

The statement died on his lips like a flame doused in ice water. The cold, following, was just an insult. He chewed on that for a long moment; it was his turn to stare blankly over the railing at the field. Some animal called from the woods, forlorn and panicked, and an incomplete silence followed. He repeated it to himself. It still didn’t make sense. “...I can’t do that.”

“You can.” Mal said simply, still refusing to look at him. 

“Mal.” Simon put a hand on his elbow, tugging in irritation when the captain still refused to look at him. “ _ Mal _ . That’s not the solution.”

“That’s what I got.” Mal’s clipped tone pushed him over the edge into anger and he pulled back, staring. The captain didn’t flinch under the look, either, but he tried anyway, trying to find the words to explain himself. Mal continued lowly, “Doesn’t have to be life threatening, just something that spreads quick and looks worse than it is.”

“No.” Simon said bluntly, and finally, the captain turned his head. The stoic expression genuinely scared him, but he held his point, shaking his head. “No. You’re asking me to commit biological warfare. On innocent people.”

“I trust you to set it right when it’s over.”

“Mal, I can’t just… _ Wèile tā mā de yuángù _ ... ” For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t just-- “It’s not something I can just  _ take back _ , Mal. It’s not a computer program, or a piece of clothing. It’s a gamble, at best.” 

“There has to be something, Simon.”

“ _ Yes _ . A  _ thousand  _ things.” Simon hissed, eyes alight in the closest he’d been to rage in a long time. “You’re not stupid, Mal. You know what you’re asking me to do. Set a highly contagious illness loose in a population that already has the bare essentials of care at their disposal. People will  _ die _ . One in two hundred will be immune to the disease. One in fifty will be immune to the  _ cure _ . One in fifteen is likely to be resistant or outright  _ allergic _ , to the cure. Anything I come up with that has the spread you want, the reputation, you want, is going to kill people. I don’t have the supplies, the team, the facilities I’d need to save half of--”

“That’s a graveyard.” Mal nodded over the railing at the field and Simon paused. “They cremate the dead. Use them as fertilizer. Mark them down in their quarterly reports as a salvaged investment.”

“That...No.” Simon shook his head, desperately trying to break through whatever sort of armor the captain had thrown up to get him to see reason. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t care. No, actually… I do, and it does, but you can’t talk about the rest of them like they’re already dead. I have no business with the dead.” 

“That’s all a battlefield medic does, Simon.”

“Pop quiz, Mal, what’s the number one, non-violent killer of soldiers in the trench?”

“Fever.”

“How do you cure fever?”   
“...I don’t--”

“You  _ don’t, _ that’s right. Fever is a symptom. Everyone’s fever reacts differently and one man’s medicine is another’s death certificate.That’s why field medics carry boot knives and cyanide capsules instead of anaesthetics and defibs.” Simon snapped, raking a hand through his hair. “They’re not there to save anyone, Mal, just to clean up and give short ends to those they can’t save. That’s not my work.”

“If you’d seen what I did tonight, you might understand my insistence that it is.” 

“Mal.” Simon bit off, and stopped himself. He breathed, in through his nose, held it, counted, rubbing both hands over his face. “I don’t know what you saw tonight, but you either don’t know what you’re asking of me, or worse, you do and you don’t care. And right now, I know in this moment, what the answer is, but...I don’t believe that’s who you are.”

Mal didn’t dignify that with an answer, returning his eyes to the field. Simon wasn’t even sure he was listening anymore.

“The inverse of prejudice is  _ faith _ , Mal.” Simon offered dully, not quite throwing his hands up as he stood. “You’re a better man than what you just suggested to me. If not, I challenge you to be. I don’t know that I could bear to be that wrong about you.”

He left him there in the dark, closing the veranda door behind him. There was no sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings include a severe PTSD episode in progress on Mal's part, and war/illness/mention of human dissection as part of medical training.
> 
> This was spicy to write. It hurt so good.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the end notes.

Simon sat in the chair until the morning crept into the sky. He kept repeating the conversation over and over to himself, looking for a different answer, but there didn’t seem to be one at hand. Mal had asked him to do something impossible. Something that went against every fiber of his being. Simon had long ago made his peace with death, and settled into a civil agreement with it that he would do his part to keep it out, because he knew in the end that it would always win. But he’d always get his shot. To purposefully invite it into the lives of strangers for the sake of moral clarity...well, that was a grey zone he had no interest in visiting. He wondered if it were true. If Mal would ever regain the parts of himself that he lost in the war. If those parts even still existed. 

He couldn’t, wouldn’t change his answer. He was still trying to come up with a speech that would sway the captain should he persist when he heard the tap on his veranda door. Mal stood outside it, silhouetted in the sunrise, but he made no move to enter. Simon didn’t like the distance. It was forced in a way that working hadn’t been. 

When he opened the door, he felt the gap close with the barest whisper. Mal’s expression said it all, well before he opened his mouth. “I’ll find another way.”

His relief was tangible, he felt it go out of his shoulders in a fluid rush. Guilt hid the corners of Mal’s eyes, and without a word, the doctor reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him forward. He settled into those arms with alarming familiarity, comforted by the warmth of knowing Mal remained righteous, despite his edges. He’d meant it, Simon couldn’t forget that he’d meant it, but he knew better than to ask again. That was enough. 

He felt Mal’s lips brush his forehead and nodded at the unspoken apology, refusing to drag the words out. He didn’t need them. After a moment, he took the older man by the wrist and pulled him inside, rustling through his medic bag as the captain lingered over his shoulder. 

Simon deposited two pills into his open palm and handed off the glass of water he kept on the nightstand. 

Mal frowned his question.

“Antidepressants. Take them.” 

“I don’t need these.” 

“I do.” Simon returned bluntly, meeting and holding Mal’s eyes to shove whatever trace of shame he felt in the idea to the background under the weight of practical consideration. “You do too, if last night was any indication. It’s not about getting you high, it’s about keeping you from getting low.”

“I don’t think--”   
  
“Take the damned pills, Mal.” Simon ordered, and the fight in the captain’s eyes didn’t quite catch. He looked tired, unbalanced, exhausted after the involuntary dump of serotonin and trauma from the night before. He stared at them a second longer and then knocked them back dry. When Simon spoke again, he was gentler, “Thank you.”

Mal hesitated, then caught him in a deep hug, steadying them both in the moment. Simon sighed deep into his shoulder. “I’m your friend, Mal, but I also happen to be your doctor. Not a wise combination, perhaps, but if you can trust me with one, the other should come easily. Should be second nature by now, given the times I’ve patched you up.”

“I needed someone who could say no to me, when it mattered.” Mal answered into his hair. “I needed someone brave enough to…”

He trailed off and Simon just nodded. Brave enough to show him that it was possible to hold onto someone. That there was enough of Mal left that was worth holding on to. Simon thought he could do that. He  _ did  _ believe it, after all. 

“We’ll find another way.” He said, backing up until he could pull the captain into his bed, boots and all. He shifted around until they were both comfortable, settling in for a nap before the plantation woke. He had patients to tend to.

XXXX

“Doctor.” 

Simon froze in the motion of filling a syringe with T-dap, turning to find Camden standing in the doorway with his ever present belt and hat. He offered him a questioning smile, pressing the medication into his patient’s forearm as gently as he could. “Call me Jacob, please...What can I do for you?”   


“I’ve got some boys need tending on the other side of the property.” Camden said, scratching at his beard. He dismissed the servant on the table with a jerk of his chin, and the young woman ducked around him without meeting his eyes. Simon watched her go, feeling the first cold creep of nerves as he met the older man’s eyes. “The cart’s out front.”

Without another word, he turned and left. Simon pulled a few things from the supply box on the desk and stuffed them into his bag as he followed them out. Thomas waited in the hovercraft, waving a short hello that Simon returned with as much brightness as he could. He glanced towards the barn as he climbed in, relieved to see Jayne watching from the gate with a saddle slung over one shoulder. He looked just as confused as Simon did, but at least someone would know where he’d gone. The mercenary nodded once and disappeared into the building.

They set off into the morning at a decent clip. Simon devoured the property they were passing, finally filling in the dark areas of his mental map. He saw the servant dining quarters, the communal shower, and short walk further into the woods, another row of cabins like the ones behind the house. 

They broke the line of trees into another meadow, the river framing it in a ribbon of light as they rounded the finger of the mountain ridge and turned back into the next valley. There was a road of sorts, simply by virtue of clearing the undergrowth. Simon closed his feet on either side of his bag as they crossed a rocky patch, keeping it from jostling too much. The afternoon sun fell on the back of his neck and then receded entirely as they flew through the woods. The ridge to their right began to jut, turning into a solid wall of stone covered in ferns and saplings. The other side was a bit more forgiving, but sitting between the two low peaks gave the area a feeling of closeness that he hadn’t anticipated. Camden sat stoically at his side, arms crossed over his chest as Thomas, his son, veterinarian, stablemaster, servant...led them along with practiced ease. 

The smell clued him in before anything else. It was there in the undercurrent, hanging thick and heavy in the rich air. Sweet rot, meat gone sour. His unease tripled in the space of five seconds, his mind reacting in very primal, heady sense to the scent. It was recognition, though for the life of him he couldn’t place it. He spotted the low roof first, peeking through the green branches in a dark slate wash, a low building that cut a long line into the mountainside. A smoke stack billowed from one side, the leaves and branches burned away a good six feet above it. The tree itself was coated in a thick black sheen of ash and oil. 

The hovercraft pulled in near the door, and Simon spotted a small enclosure with a series of horses in full tack milling around. He waited until the engine died, asking as levelly as possible, “What is this place?”

“Processing facility.” Camden answered, already dismounting and striding away from the vehicle. Simon watched him go, examining the cold pit in his stomach as he reached for his bag. Thomas offered an arm, and Simon leaned on his bicep as he jumped down and took in the cool shadow of the mountain. 

“That smell?” He asked, turning lately to follow Thomas to the building. 

  
“You get used to it.” Was his only answer. The door was big sliding piece of steel, and dark within. Thomas crossed to the lights and Simon froze to take in the room itself as they came on. 

The furnace was huge, a giant block of steel that shone dully in the blue phase light. The floor was a wash of white ceramic tile and black grout, the whole space large enough to park the hovercraft in, if they had a mind. He fixated on the furnace, its dimensions, the retracting steel trough that could be pulled across to a large black top table. The legs were an appropriate wood grain, and as Simon approached it, he paused in the motion of setting his bag down as the smell overwhelmed him. Sour, metallic, he could almost taste it on his tongue and swallowed a gag. He knew that smell. Arterial. Necessary for life, and lost in enough quantity that no such promise was made. It stained every inch of the ancient wooden surface. “Thomas. What is this?”

The young man rolled his shoulder, turning to lean on the cabinetry on the opposite wall. Simon realized they were of an age, and that surprised him. He’d pegged him as older. Thomas removed his coat and laid it behind himself. Spread out on the counter were five contracts, pinned and earmarked for signing. “This is...a processing facility.” 

“A crematorium.” Simon corrected, and Thomas nodded.

“That too, though it’s new. Originally, it was just for burial.” 

Simon shivered, schooling his features to hide his disgust. “How many?”

“Here? All of them...until dad took over.” It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged their familial relationship that Simon could recall. He looked the room over as though trying to see it from Simon’s perspective. “Probably a few hundred in the yard there, where the horses are now.”

He was smelling a mass grave. He was smelling a mass grave. A mass grave of a few hundred corpses less than thirty yards away and never, ever deep enough. He must have paled, because Thomas threw his hands up. “We installed the furnace same year I was born. We don’t put them in the ground anymore.” 

“You’ll have to explain why that’s comforting.”

“Nearest hospital is a six hour flight, if we have a ship in dock that can make it.” Thomas rolled into his statement without irony, perhaps ignoring Simon’s sarcasm. “Used to be, they just...opened a vein. Better to let them go than to let them suffer.” 

He was going to be sick, he just wasn’t sure when. He turned back to the furnace, and he did snarl then. “And that?”   


“They’re dead when they go in, you have my word.” Thomas said to the table, his eyes hollow. “I know what it sounds like, but it’s actually a lot better than it was. Work injury is no longer a killing offense.” 

“Since when?”

“Since unification.” The young man met his eyes at last. “I wish I could say longer than that, but the Alliance wrote the law that ended that table. Dad calls it ‘expensive’. But we’re legally obligated to provide treatment to both indentures and slaves now.” 

Simon shook his head, trying to swallow that statement like a mouthful of rot, but he couldn’t think straight. He moved to set his bag on the table next to Thomas’ coat. “Why am I here?”

“Uh…” Thomas hesitated, licking his lips and Simon searched very hard for his patience and empathy because all he wanted to do was grab the man and shake him until-- “It’s...dad’s experience that a brand left untreated in the first four hours is more likely to infect and kill the...property.” 

“He’s branding them. Today. Right now.” 

Thomas nodded. “In about half an hour. He’s giving them the pep talk right now.”

“Who?”

“They want to work for the plantation. Dad’s...traditional. They’ll come in here and sign their forms while he gets the iron ready. It’s kind of a ritual, for him.”

“...These are consent forms.” 

“You don’t have to tell me it’s fucked up. I know. Trust me, I know.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers include: Use of antidepressants, though it's appropriate. Mention of gore, cremation, mass graves. Next chapter will include graphic violence. 
> 
> \---------
> 
> This is going to suck.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the end notes

“Is there anything else you want to know?” Thomas asked hesitantly. 

Simon had been staring at the ground between his feet for an indeterminate amount of time, reviewing his brief time in the trauma ward. He was desperately trying to ignore the chill in his own skin despite the warmth in the room. He leaned on the counter beside the plantation owner’s son with his arms crossed, jaw locked to keep his teeth from grinding. It wasn’t a question of whether he was up for it. It was going to happen. And he would take care of them afterwards, that’s...the only rutting thing he was good for, to quote Jayne. It was all he could do. He doubted he could win a fight, he was unarmed. Camden always wore a pistol, and Thomas carried as well. 

He could just start walking, but that sickened him almost as much as staying. Camden was right, there was shock to consider. Then the blistering, the bleeding, the peeling...he’d need to debride the area of dead skin to --

He raked a hand over his face, grimacing wryly. “Feel like talking?”

“Kinda hard not to, in here. Reminds me I’m breathing.”

Simon could buy that. He could use the distraction. “Why you? ...You’re branded, why did he brand his own son?”   


“Some lessons need learning the hard way.” Thomas muttered, watching the sliver of the door, but it was still quiet outside. “He uh...took a wife, a few years back. She had a child.”

“She wasn’t a free woman.” It was not a question, and Thomas nodded his agreement.    
  
“I helped her hide it from him. Helped her deliver it. Couldn’t hide it forever, so...I...took the child’s contract.” Thomas had a faraway look in his eyes, staring into the fire. “Bought them both out, passage to Persephone. Lost them after that.” 

Simon considered that, but said nothing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Thomas grinned, his expression wan. “I was gonna leave. I got close. Got accepted to the veterinary college on Titan, planned to graduate and vanish. Make a life somewhere. But you can’t...own someone you trust. And you can’t trust someone you own. He’s never gonna let me go now.” 

Simon recognized that look with pang of guilt. He remembered wearing it many times, sitting with his back to River’s cryo cell after they smuggled her out, when he was packing his bags after that last time his father bailed him out of holding. In the infirmary on Serenity, bearhugging River through one of her episodes while waiting for the sedatives to kick in, staring at the ceiling and sobbing about how this wasn’t supposed to be his life. He knew the numbness, the cold, unyielding pressure of not knowing what could have been. Of knowing that the reality was far, far worse, and fixed like a rigged slot machine. There was never peace, never silence, just the endless threat of the other shoe, the rest of the bad news, the next phenomenal act of God, stroke of bad luck that told him his decisions, his opinions, didn’t matter. The inevitability of ending. 

Ah, there was his empathy. Hiding in the dark corner from the first moment he caught wind of the grave outside, and wiser for it. Of course, he’d find it now, just before this trial. As though it hadn’t seen enough abuse. He exhaled shakily, cutting his eyes in Thomas’ direction. “...My name isn’t Jacob.”

“...I think I knew that. I think that’s why I’m telling you.” Thomas muttered. 

“Inara picked it.” He muttered lamely, as a cover,  but it was true. 

“Can’t lie, in this room. Like some kind of curse.” Thomas answered, gesturing faintly. “I think it’s the table. Just has that effect, you know?”

He turned towards Simon, suddenly more present than he had been, serious, “Listen...it’s going to be bad, but they can survive it. The cabinet here is full of numbing and single-use scalpels. If you need to step out during, I’ll cover for you.”

“I have a strong stomach.” Simon muttered, perking as a door on the other end of the building slammed shut. He wondered what five men who were about to branded looked like. “If you want to help me out, you can go ahead and open four scalpels per man and lay them out for me. Leave the blade caps on. I’ll get the rest.” 

He turned and inspected the cabinet’s contents, finding them well stocked for this specific endeavor. It seemed whatever doctor came to witness this every month was provisionally proficient, but Simon had a dire need to inflict bodily harm on him if they ever met in person. How anyone could take their oath and stand by for this was beyond him. He caught the hypocrisy in that thought and sneered at himself. High time to be a snob, he supposed. 

There were mixed reactions when the party entered. Camden entered the room first, waving the others over to the forms. Thomas handed them out with pens and seated the five men on a bench against the wall, pointedly not looking at his father. Simon avoided his gaze too, busy setting up the things he would need quickly once the affair began. He heard the furnace hiss, and roar, and turned just in time to watch Camden reach up to the top with a gloved hand to bring down the iron. 

It was already emanating heat, thin waves of energy rolling off the last half of its length. He settled the end in the brazier, angled just under one of the gas jets. His lizard brain approved that they would not be using a hardwood fire because there would be less particulates in the wound afterwards. He swallowed heavily and then consciously handed the reigns to that tiny voice, tucking the more tender aspects of his personhood behind a privacy screen. Let the machine do the work. His hands instantly steadied, as did his breathing. It was only so much surgery prep, albeit unorthodox and inhuman.

The scent of burning gas filled the room, and he heard the overhead vent come on. Two of the men, younger than the others, were jostling each other as they filled out their contract. Bravado, check. The oldest two, guessing by look, had a calm, unaffected demeanor, as though this were no more intense than a tattoo. 

The redhead in the middle, the up and coming stablemaster Mal was training...he got it. Simon met his eyes and found only a deep pool of emptiness, resignation. There was no indifference in his posture, he sat small on the bench, shoulders forward, eyes moving to the table with an echoing silence that Simon felt in his bones. He wanted to bash them all over the head, tell them to run, find something blunt and heavy to drop on Camden’s skull to buy them time, but...he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t made that way. 

He wondered if men were born hardwired for this violence, if they chose it, or if that was something forced upon them by circumstance and fate. 

He thought of Jayne and his stomach turned a little, the vote settling on decision.

He thought of Mal, and corrected himself, that a decision could go both ways. 

The iron was hot before he really had time to grasp it was happening. He watched it come alive, watched Camden double up his glove as he struck it gently on the furnace floor and carbonized sparks flew. He wondered if he was the only one in the room who knew the truth about those sparks, that they were the remains of flesh that had gilded to the edges during the last session and now broke free, leaving clean metal behind. 

Thomas settled in beside him, muttering under the dull roar of the fire and vent. “He’ll take the brave ones first. They’ll work themselves up too much if he makes them wait. Then the quiet ones. And Curly...he’ll go last. He knows it.”

Simon wondered if he’d watch. Lizard brain said of course he would, it was important for mitigating the shock. Camden waved the first boy up and in the red light of the fire and the clinical blue of the overhead, he looked younger. Twenty, at least, still built of wire and confidence and not much else. He stripped his shirt off, grinning back at his comrades like this was a hazing ceremony at some prestigious college. Camden turned the iron one last time. 

Thomas sighed and pushed off the cabinet, stepping up to the young man to take his contract and shirt and set them aside. He showed the boy how to hold the position, down on one knee with his arm locked around the table leg to hold his shoulder taut. His fist wrapped around the wrist, and Simon watched his expression change as he rested his cheek on the edge of the table then pulled away at its tacky finish. There was a black line of old blood on his cheek. It dawned on him then what he was touching, why he was touching it, and Camden swung round with the iron as smoothly as a snake striking. 

There was a half second between the heat and the contact where his questioning eyes turned upwards to Simon, but the doctor had no answers for him. He simply willed himself blank as the hiss and pop filled the silence, followed by a scream. It was a crystalline thing, that scream, edged and bitter and breaking. He watched the man thrash against the table, his grip on his own forearm white knuckled, taut. It took less than five seconds, any more than that would be life threatening, but those five seconds lasted forever. The scream echoed. The shift in his companion was tangible, struck mute and still with horror, fixated on the bizarre, waxen look of his broken skin. Camden replaced the iron and helped his son pull the young man to his feet with a broken cry, clutching his arm tight to his chest as though tension on the wound would help. 

It didn’t. Simon stepped forward to take him, keeping him as far away from that godforsaken table as possible. He caught a glimpse of Camden’s face as he turned away, the picture of serenity. Sadist. 

Was glad of the distraction, standing the young man up and rapidly injected a local anaesthetic to the region. It would only do so much. The smell of burnt hair and singed fat rolled over him in waves, and he had to turn his head to breathe, gesturing blindly for a scalpel. It landed in his hands, around the same time the second man started begging that he wasn’t ready, wait, wait, let him breathe. 

Machine. Mechanic. Practiced. He popped the cap from the blade with his thumb and began delicately carving away the ragged edges of the brand’s mark. It would allow for smoother lines, faster closing, less dead flesh to risk infection… once the wound closed it would be closed. Truly. It had to be perfect. 

The second scream was no better, and he fought back a fresh wave of nausea, dabbing a brush full of styptic powder to the newly bleeding lines he’d made. The welts themselves would swell and need to be drained, but the weeping could be managed. The fire had sealed any blood vessels they encountered permanently.

There was thin layer of rank steam at hip level when Simon turned around. The other young man had lost his bravado, had it stripped from him in no uncertain terms and lay panting and glassy eyed with his forearms braced on the table. Simon hauled him away  and leaned him next to the other, watching Thomas pack gauze onto his friend’s bleeding shoulder. This one’s back was a touch more delicate, the skin creamy. It had melted. Simon picked up a thread of it, locked himself resolutely into his mantra of Machine, Mechanic, Steady. 

He trimmed away the tendrils of flesh that had pulled up with the iron and repeated his edging treatment. There was a brief argument at the table behind him and Thomas left to assist the older gentleman to his knees, bracing his locked arms with all his weight to keep him from jerking. 

It was as though he’d resolved not to scream. Instead, there was a low, keening groan that Simon would remember to his dying day, and he faintly heard the man retching under the thunder of his heart and mantra. He found himself talking to imaginary nurses, asking for tools he wished he had on hand, medications that he needed a full hospital to access, stabbing the anaes gun repeatedly into the angry welt and trying to ignore the way the man’s shoulders shook with his sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depiction of branding.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: PTSD episode in progress and a description of what that feels like internally.

He felt stained. It felt as though the act of forcing his body through the motions had happened underwater, in a pit of sand, every limb felt wrung out and sore by the time he was confident no one was going to collapse into shock. They always waited for a set. It was a bonding experience, supposedly. They were meant to keep each other alive and strong. There was some merit to that, Simon thought, given how desperately he was clinging to the song that River and Kaylee had used to make them all laugh following the job that should have killed Mal. He, or at least, every scrap of humanity that made Simon who he was, was still hidden behind that privacy screen in his mind, a thick curtain drawn between the work and the person he thought he was. He felt the reality brush at it in specific moments, like a monster lurking on the other side. The corner billowed once, when one of the older men actively fought his administrations and tore his wound in such a way that could not be repaired via suture. 

He’d screamed and railed and Simon, in a moment of intense frustration, gripped him by the hair and forced his head sharply against the cabinet in front of it. He’d stilled, but regained himself, and that felt like someone else’s hand. Someone else’s cruelty, despite his intentions. He’d waited very tensely for the curtain to settle before he continued. He could not meld these two halves, or he would not survive this encounter. 

The second press had been in the opposite direction, when his shoe slipped on a scrap of flesh beneath his heel. It had taken a long moment to redraw those lines. He wanted to comfort them. He wanted to put them all to sleep, like they would in a proper facility, and keep their minds on another planet through the bulk of the healing process. There was no such escape. They were forced to experience their pain, and he was forced to witness. 

Camden lingered out by the vehicle, smoking. Simon was practically emanating violence in his direction by the time the red head sunk around the table leg, leaning on it with his entire soul. He left him there, because fetching that last meant approaching Camden with bloodied hands, and he had this wild notion to shove his hand, glove and all, down the man’s throat...anything to wipe that satisfied look from his face. This was a man that branded his own child and deemed it fair trade for sacrificing the other. He deserved every horror. 

Of all of them, Curly was the only one that managed to bring himself to Simon’s hands. Thomas was busy swapping out the gauze between the other men for fresh pacs. After a while, Simon had changed the cartridge in the anesthetic gun and lowered the dose and thrust it into his hands with a firm order to run it out between them all. They were blowing through the dispenser needle caps, but he could hardly care. Camden could afford it. Simon all but caught Curly as he reached the end of the table and stumbled, but the counter top was full. He half carried him to the bench and set about his work. The ordeal, meat of it, was over. Simon knew he would never forget this, never forgive. 

He swore to himself there would be retribution, delighting his lizard brain with a variety of murders he could enact in his private theatre. By the time he was stippling styptic powder into the blood, watching it clot before his eyes, he was grinning wildly with exhaustion and the image of Camden sprawled over his desk with his throat distended around the bulk of the iron, the handle standing at attention between his jaws. 

Curtains, between, always. Such heavy curtains. 

Numb. Absolutely numb. He heard other horses arriving, two more men joined the party to escort the newly minted slaves to the cabin again, where they’d stay the night under watch. Under guard. They were investments after all. 

He’d packed mechanically, barely trusting himself to think yet. Better to stay locked down until he was with his people again, because he had a feeling when the curtain withdrew and the carnage was revealed, he would spill. He felt overfull and yet miserably empty. Every motion felt a half step behind the thought that drove it, and he hated it. Hated it with every fiber of his being. 

Simon didn’t begin to thaw until they crossed the rocky creek again and the late afternoon sun broke through the trees. It struck his unseeing eyes with a delicate warmth, but he did not allow himself to feel it. Not yet. It took the better part of an hour to make their way back down the road and around the mountain. Zoe was leaning nonchalantly outside the clinic door when he came to himself enough to see her. She took one look at him and blinked slowly, dauntingly, coiling tight as a spring. He shook his head faintly and gathered the handles of his bag. 

“Doctor.” 

“No.” Simon answered immediately, watching her slip away to tell Mal and Jayne that he was alive, after a fashion. He turned piercing blue eyes back to the plantation owner. “Whatever offer you’re about to make me, I joyfully decline. I am content in my current contract. You cannot pay me enough to break it.”

  
Camden looked a little taken aback, as much as a barely perceptible shift in his jaw could convey. Simon bullied on in a clipped tone, “Further, I want the license number of your primary physician and his paperwork.” 

“That’s not--”   


“If it’s legitimate, you will provide. You are bound by law. If it’s not, I have thoughts on that matter, and phone calls to make.” Simon pulled his bag out of the cart, brushing a hand over his tie. “Lady Serra will not require branding on any of her purchases. Good day, sir.”

He did not give the  man leave to dismiss him, turning on heel, because if he got so much as curt nod from him, he was fairly sure he would unravel. He took the steps to the veranda two at a time, taking the route mostly likely to be devoid of people. He did not slam doors, afraid to that if he so much as cracked a pane, he would lose all conscious grip and break everything that could be broken within reach. He understood now, that dark cloud in Mal’s eyes when he’d returned the night before. Understood how hard it must be to carry the memory of mass graves from the war on into his future...it was cruel, that he find that horror again after he’d done his time. 

Simon’s hands were still steady as he shook out a dose of the quick-acting nerve pills he kept in the bottom of his bag for River, mentally adjusting his own prescriptions. And Mal’s too, now. He made a note to pull Zoe and Jayne aside and have a serious conversation about their mental health when this was all over. 

He was unbuttoning his shirt when he looked down and noticed a line of demarcation on the fabric, the right panel greyed with human ash and oily smoke, the button line still crisp white. He gagged. There was no more curtain. He tore it down in two swift jerks and barely made it to the toilet before he was losing the contents of his stomach. After a few harsh seconds, the gap between wild spasms began to lengthen, and he fumbled the shower on blindly, pulling himself over the edge of the tub before he’d even opened his belt. 

Time slipped sideways. Spiralled on, and he let it, moving only to turn the water hotter and hotter until he felt his skin flush pink and couldn’t feel the oil in his hair anymore. There wasn’t enough to scour him entirely clean, but he gave it a good run. When he blinked awake enough to look, there was a set of clothes on the counter. 

He dressed in silence, sorting out the lingering traces of adrenaline over every muscle, the stiffness in his fingers. Opening the door, it was well into the evening, and Mal sat in one of the chairs. There was a fire, and he heard Zoe and Jayne conversing just outside the veranda door. The blackened clothes in one fist had only one destination. He knelt before the fire and very purposefully shoved them in, pulling burning logs over the top and ignoring the pain in his fingertips from the heat. He curled up there, watching them catch, the smoke trailing out of the pile thicker as the cotton burned. He basked in the heat, feeling the captain’s eyes on his pale shoulders as he sorted through the mess in his head. All the tears had bled away in the shower, he realized. 

Mal moved at last, one boot knocking  his feet forward enough to let the captain’s leg curl under them, the other stretching out on the other side. Firm arms slid around his waist and he hated himself for resisting, but the captain wasn’t hearing it, pulling him back against the firm line of his chest. They watched the last of the shirt disappear, his mother of pearl buttons blackening and falling into the ashes below. Mal was warm against the bare skin of his back, and bit by bit, he relaxed, settling his weight against the older man, and let himself be held. 

When he found his voice it was rough, as though he’d spent most of the day screaming himself. “Mal...you’re going to kill that man for me.”

“For you?” Came the question, and Simon nodded.

Mal sighed gently into the damp hair behind his ear, and Simon felt him nod. “Yeah...I reckon I am.” 

XXXX

He woke partially to the sound of voices, pulling his way up through the medication, but Mal’s hand landed on his hair and pressed him back down. He was stretched along Mal’s leg, his head resting on his thigh as the captain propped up against one of the chairs. 

Zoe leaned on the chair’s back. “How is he?”

“Coming together.” Mal muttered, though he left his hand where it was in a bold display of affection. “...We’re gonna prep the shuttle now, I think.”

“Might be wise.” Zoe nodded, watching Simon with a delicate mix of pain and venom in her voice. “I don’t know that any of us are thinking clearly right now. I’m like to burn it down.” 

“Me too. Better regroup before we do something stupid.” 

“I’ll let Wash know we’re coming home. Tell Jayne.” She paused, pulling away with a deep breath. “Tell him Doc’s comin’ around. He’s worried n’ won’t say it.”

“Fancy that.” Mal chuckled, and Simon was starting to drift again. Mal’s hand migrated to his shoulders. “He’s still on board, but we need...a plan. A real plan.”

“We got time.” Zoe said, pulling away. “If nothing else.”


	28. Chapter 28

 

He’d barely made it two steps off the shuttle before he had an armful of River and Kaylee. The steps were drowned out by the squeals, and then he had River in his right arm, and Kaylee in his left, the combined scent of engine grease and paint thinner making his head spin. He buried his face in their shoulders and held them close for a minute, just breathing in soft warmth, happiness, home. Kaylee ditched him to jump Mal next and when River pulled away he recognized that far away look on her face. 

“Don’t.” He asked, gently, offering the best smile he could manage as he brushed her hair back. “Hey mei-mei, don’t...not yet. I’ll tell you later, yeah?”

She nodded, watching him uneasily.

“I don’t get hugs like that.” 

“You always grab my ass.” Kaylee punched Jayne in the arm lightly but relented and slid an arm around his hips as the party made pausing steps forward and then continued on to the mess. Simon rounded the corner in time to watch Zoe sink into Wash’s lap, and his smile became a hair more genuine. All of the woman’s tenderness was reserved for this man alone, he was the only one who ever laid hands on her, much less held her. It was a gratifying thing to watch the tension slip away from her shoulders and back as she inhaled his neck and kissed his jaw. It felt like a real homecoming. 

He felt the gentle brush of Mal’s hand on the small of his back and realized he was blocking the door. The couple at the table did not look up at all, lost in soft smiles as Wash leaned back and pulled her legs over his, the other arm thrown around her hips. “Captain, I object to week long excursions, on the record.”   
  


“We all do, Wash, that’s why we’re back.” Mal said, clapping him on the shoulder lightly as he rounded the table to pull their chairs out. Simon lingered in the doorway, watching distractedly until he felt another hand on his shoulder. 

“Doctor, welcome back.” Book said warmly, looking him over. He must have been wearing his stress, and that bothered to him, to see the concern slipping in at the edges of the preacher’s face. “...Want to take a minute? I’ll put some tea on.”

Simon nodded gratefully, slipping away to his room to change. He opened his closet, paused for a long moment and then wrapped his arms around all of his clothes and hid his face in them, inhaling deeply. It smelled clean, like him. It was immensely grounding. A few seconds of flipping however made him realize that he was just...not up for it. No buttons, no vests, no belts. He was done with the entire idea. At roughly nine in the morning, he found himself slipping into his favorite pair of sleeping pants and a t-shirt instead. He stepped over to the shower and rinsed his hair again by leaning over the edge, and even the smell of the filtered, chlorinated water was calming. He roughed a towel through it and over his face before he headed back upstairs.

Trust Inara to make him feel immediately underdressed. She was resplendent in silk sheathe and a gauzy robe, and he realized dully that this probably was Inara dressed down. She caught him up in a hug and gave him a peck on the cheek and he turned back to the table to find River perching over an empty chair with a big grin on her face. 

The table went somewhat quiet as he joined them, Book wordlessly passing a cup of tea and they all just took a long moment to breathe in the reunion. It was Mal that looked up first. 

He said nothing, just leaned back to take it in, and Simon followed his eyes up. Starting directly above the table and sprawling in every direction was a garland of flowers, creeping outward with an intensity of color and sweep that took his breath away. He spotted her palette on the inside edge of a beam and wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Mei-Mei, how did you--?”

“Oh, she’s crafty, this one.” Kaylee chuckled, waving at River. “Go on, show ‘em.”

“Show me?” He tilted his head back and River rolled her eyes as though very put upon. She left him there, gathering her summer dress into one hand and tucking it into the band of the shorts she wore beneath it. Quick as could be, she bounced up from her toes and caught the beam in either hand, walking her feet up the wall until she could get her knees around it as well. 

It was far too graceful to call a shimmy, but she walked herself suspended in mid-air to the center of the table and Simon instinctively threw his hand out to catch her when she put a hand on the cross beam and a toe on the ledge of the closest window. 

In a true bit of contortion, she angled herself up and back and settled her hips and shoulders on the thin bar of the beam, stretched out along its length. She locked her knee and heel into position to hold her steady and leaned out to take her palette in hand. 

“...That’s all kinds of unsettling.” Mal said at last, and Simon had to laugh. 

She beamed down at them, reaching out to put another petal on the closest iris. “Comfy here. Like a cat. I want a cat.”

Mal scoffed, pointing up at her. “Looks like I got one, why do I need another?”

“It’s gorgeous work, River.” Simon said it first, taking in the faint traces of lead pencil where the flowers died as her reach over extended. He saw Mal following his look.

  
“Jayne, we gotta scaffold in one of the side saddles, right?” 

“Think so, yeah. I can bring it up. ‘Fore she ties a chair to the ruttin ceiling or something.”

“That idea was proposed.” Wash added lightly between sips. “I shot it down when she got to the part about drilling.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Jayne said, digging in his pocket. He came up with a crumpled wad of greenery and purple, setting it on the table. “Found it. Moon’s got a whole damn field, ain’t that my luck?”

River flashed a delighted smile, leaving her palette to swing down to the floor again. She confiscated the crumpled flowers and picked them apart, holding a limp stem up with bright eyes. “I  _ thought  _ you meant lavender...I have the spikes outlined and the bracteole is ready for calyx, but I didn’t know what color the corolla was meant to be.”

There was a long pause. Simon filled in, “She’s asking you what color you want, Jayne.”

“Uh...that one?” 

“They can be blue, sometimes. Variegated with silver and gold.” River pressed and Jayne all but threw his hands up. 

“Nah, that’s good. Dark, purplely...purple.” Jayne said with a shrug, a hint of annoyance at his fumble. 

Wash grinned, looking between them, “Look at the kids getting along, Mal.”

“I see it.” 

“Shut up, it’s a _gorram_ flower, like I’d know.”

There was another moment of upturned looks before River flapped her hands in exasperation. “Stop looking! It’s not finished!” 

“Yes ma’am.” Simon ducked his head obediently, sliding his barefoot forward to rest on Mal’s boot. It was subtle, but the captain grinned with satisfied smile. Wash chatted about their week and how much fun they’d had keeping River occupied. There had been lots of one-on-one hoopball apparently, because that was the only rule system River seemed able to play by. Teams were a bit beyond her. 

“She’s always been competitive.” 

“I’m the  _ best _ .”

“How’s the job? Are we ready to ride into the sunset yet?” Wash asked, and the hush that fell over the table settled on Simon with a particular weight, at least in his mind. 

Mal shook his head, glancing in his direction. “Had a bit of a dust up with one of the stable hands after Inara left. Camden hired me to train up his replacement and Simon got the doctoring started.”

Simon’s expression must have said all, Wash’s smile faltered. Book asked the question, “How bad is it?”

“Started simply enough, then they...ah…” Simon glanced at River and very firmly pulled his mental curtains into place before continuing. “Brought me in to treat a set of newly branded slaves.” 

Stunned silence around the table, Inara’s frame frozen into stone. Jayne swirled his tea, but made no remark, his expression neutral. 

“They still do that?” Wash asked at last, watching his face. “Anyone die?”

“No.” 

“ _ Wǒ gēgē shì zuì hǎo de _ .” My brother is the best, River remarked proudly. “The  _ best _ . He wouldn’t let them.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Simon agreed, faltering a moment on his clear division of the Doctor and the Brother. It was hard to maintain when he was here, relaxing at last, but River needed that curtain in place for her own good. He was the best. He could do this. “That’s part of why we’re here though. I was...present, for the procedure. It’s the sort of thing you have to work quickly on, but I hadn’t--”

“I don’t think anyone can plan for that.” Mal said lightly, letting him off a hook he didn’t realize he was hanging himself on. “It’s a marvel you didn’t blow the whole thing then and there. Can’t say I’d have managed the same.” 

“Me either.” Zoe piped up from the hollow of Wash’s throat, her first time speaking since they got back. “Seemed like a good time to step out and get our heads straight.”

“I have a notion these  _ báichī  _ are planning more’n a job on this place.” Jayne sighed to the others, polishing off his tea and reaching for the pot. “Can’t...say I mind, actually. Payload ‘n all aside.”

“Jayne? Having a human moment?” Inara remarked, the telltale curl of her nose giving them permission to laugh.

“Don’t sit right with me, is all. Seeing it, like that. You hear about it, and hell, I’ve branded my share of cattle, but…” Jayne shook his head. “Something Reaver-esque about treating folk that way. And they’ll shake your hand, smile nice as you please, do it in the dark when you ain’t looking.”

Wash nudged him with his elbow, shaking him out of the thought. Of all of them, aside from perhaps Mal, Jayne was the only one who’d seen that particular brand of violence up close and personal. It was a marvel he’d survived, and as often as the mercenary regaled them with stories of his own jobs on that cesspool moon off of Tulia, they’d never heard the Reaver story in its entirety. Some wounds didn’t close.  River exchanged level looks with him and he held her eyes for a moment, providing a tenuous bridge to keep her out of the mercenary’s head. Simon changed topics as quickly as he could, refilling his own tea. “We might have an in with the plantation owner’s son. He’s wearing a lot of hats for his father, but he mentioned to me before the…well, before, that he and his father are not on steady ground.”

“Think we could use him?” Mal asked.

“Maybe. He’s terrified of him. Called him a traditionalist, but I think we knew that.” 

“Perhaps there’s a crack running there.” Book mused, exchanging glances with Inara. For all of his humble air, the preacher had secrets of his own and of the Alliance flavored variety. He knew tactical information that could only come from experience, but his demeanor was anything but military. Simon often wondered if the time at the monastery was intended for that purpose, to scrub the rigor and stiffness from his soul. The older man considered lightly. “If we’re planning more than the job, what do we have in mind, captain?”

“Right now?” Mal pushed his hair back, used to it being longer, and instead it stuck up in short wavy spikes that made Simon grin. He seemed to be struggling to organize his thoughts. After a moment, he gave up. “Blood and fire. I keep coming back to it, I’d be fine with going door to door with a torch, right now.”

“That...doesn’t equate to retirement, captain.” Wash chuckled, pressing a kiss to Zoe’s hair. Simon found he envied her, in this precise moment, struggling to content himself with the warm leather of Mal’s boot under his toes. “But there’s time for scheming. What was the out?”

“...I was.” Simon said bluntly, with a grimace. “I might have told Camden in no uncertain terms that I wanted his primary physician’s information and uh...I was… less than polite.”

Mal chuckled. “He get it to you?”

“Yeah, came through this morning.” Simon sighed, shaking his head again. “I don’t know what I was expecting. The doctor is Alliance ex-military. Resume as long as my leg. You know...the kind of person that gets paid to watch branding.” 

Book shook his head. “Forward it to me, I’ll look into him.” 

“I think, for now, a day’s worth of sleep is in order for all of us working off ship.” Mal rubbed both hands over his face. “I hate to ask, but if you homebodies could manage meals and chores without us a day or two more, we’d appreciate it.” 

“Oh, shut up, Captain, we’ve already got a meal plan down.” Kaylee waved him off. “You guys work, we’ll tend the ship. ‘Side, Inara might have made off with a stash of fresh herbs from the plantation.”

“Really? You?” Mal raised both eyebrows in her direction. “Petty thieving?”

Inara did not quite roll her eyes. “They might have left an herb garden unattended in my presence, yes. Those require pruning, you know.”

“Oh, I have books for you.” Simon perked, thinking back to his suitcase. “I, too, might have fallen so low as to lift a few unappreciated items from our esteemed hosts.” 

There was gentle pause, and the warmth in Mal’s voice bled over the table. “I’m such a bad influence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, here's the image I have in my head for River's painting.
> 
> https://www.lempertz.com/en/catalogues/lot/995-1/1240-daniel-seghers.html
> 
> If you have your own, don't click! Preserve that little piece of anonymous contribution to the fic, I live for it.


	29. Chapter 29

 

He was still feeling the medication, but took another half dose to make sure that there would be no hours long conversation with the ceiling. Simon just wasn’t up for its blank stare and guilting opinions. After, he lingered on the couch with River for a while, watching her idly sketch out a diagram of lavender’s anatomy for Jayne’s benefit. He wondered how that would go over. He had a sneaking suspicion he’d ignore it for a day or two, and then it would disappear from the table to his bunk when no one was looking.

River yawned faintly, pulling him out of his blank stare. It was nice to not-think. He’d missed this, having his little sister curled up at his side and lecturing him about whatever the topic of the day was. He could watch her draw forever, and it was infinitely better than the tantrums and screaming matches.

She dug a sharp elbow into his side and suddenly she was nine again, in his head, and he was thinking too loudly and got caught. He grinned, ruffling her hair with a muttered apology. She favored him with a superior look that he just knew came from studying Inara and it made him laugh. He’d needed this, desperately. He yawned himself and she offered to let him nap, reminding him that she still had paint drying on her palette upstairs. 

He made his way to bed in a haze, still feeling the nerve pills in his system like soft cotton. Normally, he’d hate this feeling, but the experience on the plantation reminded him what genuine exhaustion felt like, and this promised to be a lighter sleep. Long, of course, but nothing akin to clawing his way out of a sandpit. His pillow was soft, and the thin memory foam mattress over the steel frame was comfortable until it wasn’t, but so familiar that he didn’t care. He fell into the dark from one breath to the next. 

When he woke, he knew even without the aid of a sunset that it was late. There were voices outside his door, talking softly, he could see their shadow through the frosted panel of his door. There might have been a meal or two between his last waking moment and the current, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and rectify his hunger. The last few meals had been pecked at but he hoped that waking with a genuine fast under his belt would restore his appetite. 

The door slid open a crack, revealing River with a soft smile on her face. She glanced in, but he couldn’t make out her words. She waved goodnight, and when the door opened the rest of way, it was Mal that stepped in and pulled it shut behind himself.  Simon didn’t move, watching him in the dark as he kicked his boots off by the door. Mal moved with a languid ease that he recognized, pulling his suspenders off and hauling his shirt off over his head, forgoing the buttons. Simon could empathize. He left his pants on, and Simon didn’t have the energy to protest. He picked his head up slightly when the older man paused at the foot of the bed, but he was just undoing his belt, tossing it over by his boots. 

The mattress didn’t sink when he eased a knee onto it, placing a hand on Simon’s thigh to make sure he was awake. Simon immediately covered it with his own and hauled him further up, tucking back against his chest as though they’d done this a thousand times instead of four. Mal settled in with a quiet sigh. “‘Fraid you spoiled me for this.”

“S’fine...they’re bound to catch on sooner or later.” Simon muttered heavily, words floating in and out of focus on his tongue. He felt himself slurring a little, but didn’t care. “Zoe’s caught on, I think.” 

“Yeah, won’t be long now.” Mal agreed, and Simon basked in the soft breath on the back of his neck. “You know, I think Jayne knew first.”

“You’ll have to explain that to me when this pill wears off.” 

“Mhm.” Mal muttered, settling in. “Then we’re talking about this mattress.”

XXXX

There was a soft knock on the door, and Mal jumped awake, Simon felt him freeze to take in his surroundings before answering gruffly. “Yeah?”

“It’s me.” Zoe answered, hesitating out of politeness before opening the door. She opened it slowly to make sure there was no scrambling to indicate nakedness and Simon grinned in his sleep. She stepped in with a small smile playing around her mouth and pulled the door closed behind herself. Mal rolled over on his back and Simon refused to move, insisting on his three phase wake-up cycle, company be damned. 

The first mate pulled the chair out of the folded space in the corner and sat down, taking in her captain and doctor from the wall until Mal waved that he was mostly awake and propped himself up on the headboard. “Is this something we need to talk about, sir?”

“Nah, not especially...consenting adults and all that.” Mal muttered, his voice still thick with sleep. 

Simon smiled at the answer, turning onto his back to begin phase two. “M’here, I’m getting there.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.” 

“That...not talking thing, we just discussed? Yeah.”

“Only two not talking on it is you.” Zoe remarked softly. “Not that anyone’s worried.”

“Still doing it, Zoe.”

She smiled at last, rolling her eyes. “Fine. This mean you’re kicking Wash and I out of the suite?”

“What?” Mal frowned, sounding more awake. “No. I’ll just… put a bigger cot in mine, or something. Or stay down here.”

“Mal, you’d go crazy sleeping that far away from the bridge.” Simon mused, picking his head up to look at the first mate. Phase three involved forcing cognitive function, though arguably only as far as the first cup of tea.  “Morning.” 

“Rich and prosperous does equate to bed upgrades.” Zoe stood. “I have news from the moon, thought you two might want to hear it at the table. I’ll get a pot on.” 

“Thank you.” Mal muttered, his his hand falling on Simon’s hip as she made her exit. “Well...our cover is blown.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

“Fall on our swords, obviously.” 

Mal chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “Good thing I’m fresh out of those. I’m going to go change, I’ll see you up there.” 

“We’re not at the ‘wearing each other’s clothes’ stage yet?”

“God no, I’m still basking in the ‘taking each other’s clothes off’ stage. Might linger on that a while. I’m sure you’ll oblige me.”

“I’m sure I will too.” Simon patted his hand and then shoved him toward the door. “Go be captainy, I’m right behind you.” 

XXXX

“We need a bigger table.” Mal said resolutely, watching Kaylee and River pair off to the alcove as they usually did. “Add that to the rich and prosperous wishlist.”

“Who’s tracking that again?” Wash asked. “Oh, right, me.” 

“I figured you were, you got no grasp on how to hang onto money.” Mal said as everyone filed into seats. Inara claimed the other head of table, with Zoe and Jayne on one side and Simon and Book on the other. Wash lingered at the counter to listen in. “Might be rearranging things at some point, Book, do you want a bunk?”

“...In the crew quarters?” Book inquired and Mal nodded. He thought for a second, looking at his clasped hands. “I would, yes. Can’t guarantee I’ll always be here.”

“Don’t have to be, but going on the better part of a year now, and I like you well enough.” Mal settled in, turning to Zoe. “What’s the word?”

“Spot of arson in the Indenture quarters after we took off, apparently.” Zoe slid the tablet over to him with a picture of three white cabins charred and only half standing. 

Mal grinned. “Well.” 

“Indentures, not slaves…” Simon pointed out. “Punishment won’t be so bad, right? Did they catch who did it?”   


“Not yet, they waved to see if we had any notion.” Zoe saidly, scrolling through the pictures with a satisfied look. “Convenient timing though.”

“ I don’t think this was a favor to us, though.” Simon said. “I mean, it makes us look suspicious, given our sudden exit.”

“Happened a few hours after we left atmo, and looks like a good old fashioned kerosene douse, nothing fancy.” Zoe replied, laying the tablet down with a thoughtful expression. “We make any friends down there? Someone we haven’t mentioned?”

Jayne shook his head. Simon shrugged, “Not really. Kinda did the opposite, if anything. Thomas wouldn’t dare. Could it have been our man?”

“Perhaps, or that Curly guy I’m training.”

Simon shook his head again, “No, he was branded with the others. He’d still be under guard, for precisely this reason.” 

“The mark may actually be the one.” Book chimed in, leaning over his tea. “I looked into him while I was reading up on our other problem.”

“Anything good?”

“Deserted four times without a court marshall. I suppose being the Admiral’s son has its advantages. He’s got a decent stack of paper though, smells strongly of Independence sympathizer.” Book paused to sip at his tea. “So...I wouldn’t write him off necessarily. It might be worth having a conversation with him before we pull him out, if we’re really planning on doing damage to the place.”

“Inside man ain’t ever bad.” Jayne agreed. “Though...I gotta wonder how’s he gonna react to being found.”

“That’s a point.” Mal said, frowning. “We don’t know if he really meant to sell himself. Maybe he just wanted out, trying to disappear.”

“Or maybe he’s like minded.” Zoe mused, still perusing the pictures. “At risk of sounding optimistic.” 

“I don’t like planning on a stranger’s good intentions, so we’ll pass on that until we know.” Mal settled it, turning back to book. “What about the other?”

“He’s not going to be easy to shake.” Book sighed. “Like Simon, I was hoping for some illicit, outer ring clinic doctor in it for the money. This man is something to contend with. It will be hard to shake his reputation if we go the political route. I don’t know that we can touch him.”

“What if I start undermining his paperwork? They’re throwing resumes at us while we’re shopping, I could make them look questionable. I mean, if Jayne could forge the rest.” Simon frowned thinking it through. “Make it look like he’s just showing his face and disappearing again.”

“That’s a drop in the bucket though. It’d take a while for that pattern to take hold.” Zoe countered, playing her role as devil’s advocate. 

“Agreed, and forging the documents on someone with more connections than even I have is ill advisable.” Book supplemented, drawing curious glances, but as always, he didn’t elaborate much. “It would be safer to have Simon just write contradicting reports in the file, but even then, there’s a chance he’d start digging into the license and that’s a degree of attention he and River can’t really afford.” 

Simon rubbed his face tiredly. “Every step of Alliance interference makes me more of a liability than an asset. If I’m honest, I’d try to bow out after I insulted Camden yesterday, but I still think I’m most useful rifling through the patients to get to our guy.”

“Agreed on that point. Between you, and them,” Mal said, gesturing to Zoe and Jayne, “You’re more likely to make contact and get a minute alone with the mark to suss out his intentions. I think you just stay out of Camden’s way for a while. I’ll work on getting closer, see if I can smooth that over any.”

“He likes you?” Inara frowned. “After the fight?”

“...It wasn’t much of a fight. He injured a good stallion and I broke his face a little.” Mal muttered darkly. “Camden shot him, after. Seems he’s got no compunction on that point.”

“So, you’re suddenly acting stablemaster?” 

“For another week or so, while my replacement recovers from his... promotion.” 

Silence fell over the table at that, each lost in their own thoughts. Simon broke it after a minute, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll work on Thomas. See if I can get him to give me something we can use.” 

“Don’t push too hard, he stands to inherit the whole business.”

“He doesn’t want it.” Simon answered Mal, his mind on Thomas’s blank eyes. “There’s something here, I can feel us sitting on it, I just can’t…”

“We’ll take a day or two on the ship. I need to check in with Badger anyway. Anyone has an epiphany, holler.” Mal pushed back from the table, draining his cup. “I’m for the showers.”


	30. Chapter 30

It came to him like a sunrise, burning in its intensity, a creeping warmth of an idea that soon caught fire and swept through every nerve, leaving him stunned in his chair. River lay atop her scaffold like renaissance artist, humming that racy war song under her breath as she painted. Simon sat at the table watching, his tea long gone cold in his hand. It was late afternoon by most of their internal clocks, and he hadn’t budged from his spot at the table when Mal dismissed the breakfast, content to do nothing but watch River paint while the rest of the medication wore off. Maybe it was the slow return to complete function. Maybe it was several hours of chewing facts and looking for a pattern that got his attention, Simon really had no idea. 

But when she rolled her head and stuck her tongue out at him, it was purple. He’d frowned, opened his mouth to chide her about licking her paintbrushes, a habit she’d had as long as she was able to hold one. He’d told her before that it used to be dangerous, back when paints were made with metals. She watched him pause, then her eyes went sort of glassy as the idea took hold in him, but a slow grin spread on her face. “You’ve done it.”

“...I did.” Simon breathed, snatching the tablet from Zoe’s former chair and bringing up the ship’s server, scrolling rapidly through their last cargo log. He got to it and froze, an odd sort of euphoria taking hold that he’d previously associated with alchemists and the transfiguration of gold. “Eureka.” 

“ _ Simon _ .” River’s voice snapped him out of the enormity of it, pointing at the door. “Go tell them.”

He’d fumbled standing up, pacing back and forth a step or two as he reviewed the details and tried to organize them into a narrative. His hands were shaking. He crossed the kitchen in three quick strides and leapt up the steps to the comm panel on the other side of the door. He hesitated over the button, no one really used it but Mal and Wash, but...Mal had said to holler. 

“Come to the mess. It’s Simon, come to the mess, I’ve got it.” 

He heard a laugh from the bridge and Wash ducked down to meet his eyes, “We’re right here!”

“No, everyone. Even Kaylee, I’m serious. Come on.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing...God, for once, nothing, just come on.” He felt himself grinning ear to ear, meeting Mal’s eyes as he descended the steps with a rampant pride, the sort of which he hadn’t felt since he was standing on the statue of Hippocrates having just made surgeon. The captain stopped short, and Simon would have given anything to be in his lap at that very moment, kissing him senseless, but there was work to be done,  _ good  _ work, for a good doctor. He spun on heel, coming down the stairs and doing a lap around the table as they filtered in. Inara came last, lingering at the door as they watched him move, but he was unable to sit still. No one sat, his energy was infectious. 

“It’s going to take everyone, I need...everyone. Okay.” He rubbed his hands harshly over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m going to throw a lot of information at you, I’m sorry, but hang in there. It’s...legal. It's all legal.  _Shèngjié tā mā de gǒu shǐ_... ” 

Holy fucking shit. Wash looked scandalized, but he suddenly had their rapt attention, he’d barely noticed the curse slipping from his mouth to the air. Mal was a terrible influence. 

“What does a planet need to support life?”

“Water.” Zoe answered immediately.

“Right, good, we...we delivered--” He snatched the tablet up again, pointing at the screen. “A water purifier. To this moon. And it disappeared as soon as we landed, which meant it was needed somewhere.”

“That’s not uncommon.” Mal bridged, hooking his thumb in his belt.

“Exactly, but...where did it go?”

“The slave quarters, other side of the mountain.” Jayne answered. 

“Right, so...we know there is nonzero chance that the slaves were drinking untreated water before that. In fact, two of my patients were injured bringing water back from one of the grottos.” Simon gestured the little girl’s height and Mal’s eyes lit up, nodding. “Well water on terraformed moons is hard enough to mint coins. Dangerous, on a good day. Now...this is the...doctor stuff, bear with me.”

“Should we be taking notes?” 

Simon nodded desperately, then gave up and opened the voice recorder on the tablet, setting it down on the table. “There, that should...okay. Ah. Heavy metal poisoning, over time, presents as a myriad of symptoms in both human and animals. How severe they are is determined by the types of metals and their concentration. We know this moon needed that purifier, immediately. So we know there is likely a history of hard water, possibly even previous epidemiological episodes regarding the contamination.”

“With you so far.” Mal said. 

“Those symptoms include  _ dizziness _ , birth defects, mental retardation,  _ aggression _ , lethargy, kidney failure...I could go on. It’s serious. It kills people, and not immediately. It’s enough to get them shut down if the water is deemed too contaminated to support human life. It can get them shut down  _ permanently _ , if they knowingly ignored this information.”

Book spoke up with a furrowed brow. “The Alliance has regulations in place regarding the inspection of those terraforming facilities and their water sources.”

“Exactly, which is why an ex-military Alliance medic couldn’t afford to ignore evidence that they knew and were ignoring the situation. We don’t have to fabricate the illness, just...the evidence.” 

“ _ Nǐ zhège piàoliang de biǎo zi _ .” Mal sounded thunderstruck. “How do we do it?”

“We have everything we need on Serenity. Almost everything. Have you called Badger yet?”

“No, what do you need?”

“Ah...the...tanks, we’ll need spare tanks.” Simon realized he was pacing again and stopped to take a deep breath. “Guys, sit down, let me...take a minute…”

They did, filing into their chairs and when Simon turned back he found Mal sitting in his usual spot, the head of the table left open. He gestured, but Simon didn’t sit pulling the chair out of the way. He pointed at the table as he talked, “My girl and her mother, both fell down the ravine. Dizziness. The horse...the stable hand...that’s aggression. The boys with the beehive, I can sell as developmental problems. The arson. Give me a week and I can turn up someone with kidney problems, miscarriages, neurological distress...I have a huge palette I can work from on proving the illness.”

“And us?” Zoe prompted, leaning forward in her seat. “Where do we get evidence?”

“We need to create the contaminated water. We can use electrolysis.”

“We can?”

Wash threw his hand up, “Actually...we already are, after a fashion, right Kaylee?”

“Yeah, that’s how Serenity makes oxygen, captain.” She nodded to herself. “Run a current through a tank of water and add whatever metals you want. The rig’s already here, I’d just need to divert the line to different water and tanks. I got scrap enough to kill a moon, I’m sure.”

“Lead? Copper, tungsten, nickel…” Simon prompted and Kaylee nodded along with each, her smile growing wider. “Cadmium? Tin?”

“Yeah, I got it all.” 

“How do we use it once we’ve got it?” Zoe asked, daring to look excited. “Without killing folk.”

“They installed a crematorium on the property after the war when the Alliance came down on the use of mass graves and the medical treatment of human property. They use that to fertilize the lavender, and honestly...they may even be using it for edible crops, which means that this could prove a real problem, and not one we’re fabricating.” Simon rambled, ticking on off his fingers. “Wash and Kaylee work up a concentrated batch of poison. We spread our hard water on the fields, first, anywhere a regional officer is likely to sample. Take a week or two at most with good sunshine and no rain.”

“I can work the field.” Zoe said, nodding. “Put it in one of the pump sprayers, they don’t use potable water for that anyway.” 

“Right, and we’re just interested in spiking the concentration on the topsoil to an absurd level. Next, I need to cover all local water sources and the terraforming facilities with the same mix. We’ll have to do that at night, or I’ll take a sudden interest in morning rides. Mal and Jayne can volunteer to help install the purifier. We’ll build a catch under the lid of the water storage before we install them, something watertight that won’t allow the hard water to mix in with the rest too quickly.” 

“They only swab the top of the tanks...and the dilution as it bleeds through to the rest will not be...pleasant, but it won’t be deadly either.” Book filled in, nodding. “The sample will come back with dangerous levels without actually endangering the population. I can look up the specifics to make sure we’re hitting our marks on the concentration.” 

“Exactly. Now...the rest of it is paperwork. I need...autopsies from the last three years of slaves. I need their water standard audits from the last three years. Jayne can alter those to show incomplete data, risky figures, bad timelines, and then I need Mal to plant them in Camden’s office and destroy the originals. I’ll take a random selection of blood samples from the population and dose them with the concentrate before I send them out to make sure they're flagged.” 

“Then what?” 

“Then...we grab our man, and I make good on my promise to complain to the Feds about what I’ve seen on Camden’s farm.” 

“...And the Alliance does the rest. And we get paid.” Mal muttered.

Simon nodded, elated. “Two weeks to set in motion, a month after that, Marigny is forcibly evacuated and all human trade done in the last eight years, since the crematorium was installed, is rendered null and void. Hell, if we don’t kill Camden, his estate will be liquidated to pay the damages. There will be no starting over on another moon.” 

"And we free a thousand people overnight with clean contracts, back pay...and we do it with a tank of water." Mal chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.  “Where’s the whiskey? We need to toast our criminal doctor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mal called him a beautiful son of a bitch there in the middle. 
> 
> YOU. GUYS. 
> 
> This was my own epiphany. Seriously, my whole story hinged on Simon being willing to make people sick BUT when I got to that scene, he just...wasn't. I was scrambling for ideas, and did some research and realized I'd included enough detail to build this solution ON ACCIDENT. 
> 
> Dude. 
> 
> I'm over the moon right now. If there's any error, forgive me, my fingers were excited.


	31. Chapter 31

They got him very, very drunk. Drunker than he’d ever managed on his own, to be certain. There might have been singing involved, Simon would not confirm or deny the fact to himself. Every time he turned around, Jayne was pouring him another shot as though he were on a mission to watch the Doctor vomit on his shoes. He did not quite keep up, but Wash bowed out before he did, leaving Zoe, Mal, and Jayne to continue the torture. Zoe left the table next and returned with an oddly judgemental glass of water. He already knew that he couldn’t outdrink the captain and the mercenary without risking some level of alcohol poisoning, so he got his last two shots down and hid his shot glass in his pocket. 

River was the only one not imbibing, but she hardly needed to with Simon as wrecked as he was. She sat over in the corner with Inara and Kaylee, playing a clap game with the mechanic since Inara wasn’t confident in her string skills under the influence. It looked fun, if Simon had had a scrap of anything resembling rhythm, he’d have joined. Each round added a new motion and every five motions was a shot for the mechanic. The older crowd had long lapsed into silent amusement, watching River try to stump her and Kaylee tearing it up everytime. 

That was his last clear memory of the evening, and the rest devolved into impressions, snatches of scenery and...touching. Mal had come to his room again after the evening rounds, and Simon could still hear one or two crew members upstairs talking when it happened, but drunk Simon had no shame. None. There was a whole story about that, involving drunken singing on top of a statue. Simon remembered fistfuls of shirt, the heat of his mouth, mapping every scar that presented itself in the dim light of his room. Remembered the swearing, the desperation, the breathless laughter that came with denial and his own driving need to push the captain over.

But, he was walking straight this morning, so he must have lost that battle. He waved his greeting as he rounded the banister into the kitchen, mind focused solely on his morning tea and something that resembled food. The kitchen table was awash with guns and their components, the golden trio fighting silently over the cleanest rags and the bottles of gun oil as they tended to their weaponry. Wash wandered in blearily as the pot finished and Simon poured his mug before claiming the chair opposite Mal. Jayne had a faraway squint on his face as he inspected the hammer on one of his pistols, but as far as Simon could tell, that was the closest to a hangover that the mercenary ever got. 

Only Mal was smiling, pleased with himself. Simon studied their motions as they worked. After a half hour, he rubbed his face, sighing, “I should be working but I’m...not.” 

“That’s the mood of the morning, doctor.” Zoe reassured him, slipping her shotgun from its short leather holster and clearing the chamber. “This is meditation, not work.”

“When are we due back?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Mal answered, and Simon inspected his grin curiously. “Stopping off at Persephone this afternoon to grab the last of the must-haves.” 

Zoe pushed back from her chair and looked over at him for the first time, pausing. It was there, in the incremental raise of her eyebrows, amusement. She packed up her gear, muttering about checking on her husband. Mal waited until she cleared the room to lock eyes with him and very pointedly lean forward to tap the side of his throat. 

Simon frowned in confusion, touching his own. There was nothing...there, just...tenderness. It took another three seconds for it to dawn on him, and he set his tea down in a hurry to flip his collar up, muttering some excuse to leave the table and change into a shirt with a higher collar.

He slid the door closed and pulled the sweater off over his head, just pausing to take in the long trail of marks that wound over his chest and down to the opposite hip. He was still kind of staring, scrubbing at the unwilling mark of censorship in his head that hid it from view, when there was a soft tap on the door. Mal let himself in as Simon pulled a shirt from the closet and tossed a vest to the bed. 

The doctor gestured at himself incredulously. Mal only shrugged, folding his arms as he leaned on the door and watched. “I recall you agreeing that it was worth exploring.”

“It was...It’s...I mean, yes, but….” Simon gave up on the rest of that sentence, trying to ignore the steady flush creeping up from his chest to his throat. “Did you have to--? ...Like this?”

“I’m remembering a degree of enthusiasm, now that you mention it.” Mal answered smugly. 

Simon paused. “...How much enthusiasm?”

“You know how to charm a guy, doc.” Mal cocked an eyebrow and Simon was immediately embarrassed, pulling the shirt over his shoulders. 

“Look, I...I’m sorry, I know how that sounds.” 

“So...when you proposed?” 

Simon’s hands froze on the buttons, eyes wide. “Ah...when I…See, I don’t believe in...It’s not that...”

Mal held out for another twenty seconds before breaking into a laugh. “Wo de ma, you’re too easy.” 

Simon threw the discarded sweater at his head, then picked it up and threw it again, “Mal,   _ nǐ bùkě jiù yào de gǒu shǐ _ .” 

“I am that, yes.” Mal nodded, coming off the door and stalking closer, hedging Simon a step back with the realization of how very...small his room was. There was nowhere to go, now that he was looking for an out. Two feet of walking space and the  _ bed _ \-- “Shall I remind you?”

It shouldn’t have been possible for a man with his intellect, with his training, to completely lose composure over four words. Simon was having trouble meeting the captain’s eyes, but every tilt of his head left something exposed, something that he believed was half the trouble the night before. His ear, his throat, the line of his jaw, his collar, those heated touches rang through the haze with alarming clarity. He swallowed, settling on looking at Mal’s mouth instead. “Can...you do it quietly?”

“Me? Oh, quiet as a churchmouse.” Mal’s smirk took on a wicked curl as he dragged his boot forward, leaning a few inches further and Simon jumped when he encountered the edge of the cabinet at his back. “Unlike you. I learned a lot last night.”

“I’ve been told I’m braver when I drink.” 

“Brave…” Mal’s exhale counted as a laugh on its own merit. He pressed the doctor, stepping close enough that Simon could remember the smell of his skin, the warmth of it under his hands. Mal uncrossed his arms, placing his hands over the doctor’s hips and tracing the line with his thumbs. “I came down to check on you. Told myself I would put you to bed, muss your hair a little bit, see if you were up for kissing a minute before you passed out.” 

It was Simon’s turn to grin. “Oh, no.”

“Hindsight, and all that.” Mal said, brushing his nose, twice broken at least if Simon could have guessed, along the line of his jaw up to his ear. “And next thing I know, you’re in my lap, asking for all manner of things. Except, asking is too genteel a word.” 

He pressed a kiss just below Simon’s ear, and he shied from it, hating his instinct to curl. “I shoulda known that, when you said it on the shuttle.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Simon found his voice, a little rough around the edges, perhaps, but there. He rested his forehead on the captain’s lapel. “I just--”   
  


“Beg.” Ah, there it was, the first ray of memory breaking like the moon through a cloud, he remembered. He knew what he’d done, struggling to be ashamed of it, when he also very vividly remembered the feel of Mal’s scars beneath his teeth, his searching hands-- “Asking is far too polite a word for some of the things you said to me last night in the dark, Simon. You’re the only man I know who can make ‘please’ sound like an order.” 

Simon grinned at that, pulling Mal’s shirt free of his belt and slipping his arms around the older man’s waist. “I really climbed in your lap?” 

Mal deadpanned, reaching behind to take his wrist and guide his hand further up the man’s back. He felt the welts very clearly, tracing them out with his fingertips and realizing that he’d clawed-- 

“Oh….” Simon muttered faintly bringing his other hand up to sort out the matching set of marks on the other shoulder. He felt Mal shiver under his touch and marvelled at it, pulling the older man closer so he could run the tips of his fingers along the path. “I didn’t mean to...be demanding.”

“Don’t ever apologize to me for wanting what I have to offer.” Mal muttered into his throat, pulling him flush against his chest. “It’s novel. Doubt I’ll ever tire of it.” 

“I do want you.” Simon confirmed, still running his fingers lightly over the marks he’d left. “Sober, drunk...left to my own devices, we’d still be in bed. You wouldn’t have been taking advantage, if that was your worry.” 

“Yes, I would have, though whether I’d have felt guilty about it afterwards is one for the philosophers.” Mal answered, and Simon grinned. “Honestly, don’t give me too much credit. You left the bottle on Marigny. Might have spared us a lot of explaining with that little mishap.”

“We’ll have to revisit this when we get back, then. Maybe without a fifth between us.” 

Mal rolled his shoulders, knocking his fingers off the marks with something close to a growl. “After last night, you’ll be lucky if I don’t make a personal trip to Persephone this afternoon. I have cash burning a hole in my pocket.” 

Simon blinked at that, his mind racing. Mal paused over him, pulling back just slightly and the doctor tightened his arms, meeting his eyes at last. “Do it.” 

“Simon.” 

“I mean it.” And he did, he was surprised to realize, setting his nails faintly in the small of Mal’s back and watching with utter satisfaction as his control buckled under the barest pressure. “Let’s spend tonight off the ship. We have the time, and the cash, and there’s no promise of either on Marigny. Do it.” 

Mal still didn’t look convinced, but there, hiding behind the concern, was the raw honesty that made his knees weak. He opened his mouth, and Simon closed it with his own, stealing whatever words he’d prepared with the hot swipe of his tongue and a pure insistence that he felt all the way to his toes. He wanted this. He didn’t pull back until the felt the captain’s hands shaking, pinning him with his own stare. “Mal.  _ Please _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? *chainsaw noises* I'm sorry! Can't hear you! My fic's being real indulgent right now!


	32. Chapter 32

“Alright, ladies…” Simon crouched between River and Kaylee on the catwalk, holding the tablet out for them to see. “This is the last geological survey done on the moon Marigny. It doesn’t look like tin is in the natural composition, so we’ll have to leave that out.”

“Pretty palette.” River murmured as she scrolled. “Lots of opportunity for damage to the central nervous system and lymphatic function. Broad strokes.”

Simon nodded, translating for Kaylee’s benefit. “Yeah, I have a lot of symptoms I can assign to this kind of poisoning. I’ll cherry pick according to the final composition.” 

The mechanic leaned over to read as he stepped back and shoved the crate of scrap metal between them. Below, on the deck, a series of boxes lay waiting for to be filled with the sorted pieces they would use. Off to one side, Jayne sat atop a pile of crates with a large knife and his cigar within easy reach, pondering the large plastic container in front of him. Wash tapped Simon on the shoulder and held out two lengths of pipe. Simon watched as he slotted them into each other with an easy grin. “I had a thought, doctor. If I use both of them, I can make sleeves that fit inside each other, and we can pack the big one with charcoal powder. That way, it’ll purify the water that does eventually leak into the tank.”

Simon grinned broadly. “That’s brilliant. It should also slow the permeation enough that if they decide to retest in a month or two, the cocktail will still be there.”

“I thought so, it didn’t sit right with me that we were ignoring that risk, you know?” Wash tucked the pipe under his arm. “I’ll knock these out today, and we can test the fit and seal on the spare tank. Would you grab the charcoal when you’re out?”

“Of course, it’s on my list.” 

“I’m off to play with a blow torch then.” Wash puffed his chest up slightly. “I want to be working on it when Zoe pulls in. She likes it when I’m manly.” 

Simon laughed and waved him on, following him down the stairs as the girls began to rain parts into their boxes. Jayne took the lengths of pipe from Wash’s hands and measured them, ashing his cigar onto the floor. After talking with the pilot for a moment, he stood and kicked the tank around, inspecting the sides for the largest flat surfaces. He would cut the plastic for Wash to mold around the pipes. When he picked up his bowie knife, Simon started to protest about the accuracy of the cuts, but thought better of it. It was, after all, Jayne with a bowie knife. 

The mule pulled in just as Wash lit the torch, waving it in long arcs over the panels until they started to fall into position. Simon pretended not to see the salacious grin on the first mate’s face at the sight of her husband with his sleeves rolled up, leaving them to their work to take a file box from Book as he stepped down. 

“That’s the physical public records I could pull without flashing my Ident card.” He explained, and Simon rifled through them, his excitement growing at the number of embossed official seals he spotted in the corners. “They’re not due back for two weeks, so as long as we address the digital files, we have plenty of time to forge the replacements.” 

“...What if we didn’t? Address the digitals. Wouldn’t that add to the illusion that they were covering it up?”

“Potentially, but we might want to be sure the clerk that filed them is either under Camden’s employ or retired. He’ll go to prison if he’s blindsided with a falsification charge.”

“That’s a good point.” He handed the box off again, offering Inara his arm as she stepped down. “How was the shopping?”

“Trite and yet glorious.” She said, lifting her veil with an impish grin. “I found something for you.” 

“...Is this something in a black bag?” Simon hedged, lowering his voice. “Because Kaylee...I mean...The last time you went shopping for me, it was--”   


“Nothing scandalous, on this round.” Inara tutted, peeling open the embroidered bag attached to her chatelaine. “But, I did happen upon a companion’s outlet vendor, and they had something you might like if you continue working off the ship.” 

She pulled a folded black piece of fabric from within and shook it open. It looked almost like a pocket square but there were stitches in odd places and a fine silver chain with a tension clasp and a weight bead. The matte fabric had a gentle black-on-black pattern sewn at the edges. He took it from her, turning it over in his fingers in confusion.    
  
“It’s a  _ manal _ .” She answered the unspoken question. “You know the gold coin veil I have in my shuttle? This one is designed for male companions to the same end. Let me show you.”

She took it back from him and pulled the strands apart, loosening the chain. He ducked slightly so she could drape it over his ears and pull the clasp snug into his hair. With careful tugs, she adjusted the seam, and Simon realized it was designed to hug his chin. The excess was tucked into his collar behind his cravat and she moved behind him to tie the fine straps at the nape of his neck and tuck them away too. The result was an austere face mask that hid the lower part of his face and his throat, resting just under the bridge of his nose. The fabric was close to his nose and mouth, but breathable, and he ran his fingers over it to smooth it to his cheeks. Inara favored him with a smile, adjusting the rest of his clothing around it. “ _ Kě'ài _ , Simon, it’s a lucky fit. You’d have done well at the academy. With the rest of your wardrobe, it’s a passable disguise.”

“Better than walking around in a medical mask, to be certain.” Simon smiled turning his head experimentally and relishing the way the fabric moved with him. “The context of that always worried me.”

“You carry yourself with enough grace that this should buy you a degree of anonymity. Or notoriety, in the wrong crowd. Avoid other companions if you can, and if not, explain that you wear it for reasons of fashion.” Her tone turned wry, patting him on the shoulder. “It won’t be the first time our trade has been appropriated to add mystery to the common folk’s lives.” 

“Oof, Inara, that stings a bit.” Simon laughed, pulling the chain down to show her he took no offense. “Thanks for sharing your mystery with me.”

“Mal would accuse me of teaching you ‘wiles’.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Zoe has your room keys, by the by.” 

“Ah…” Simon flushed to crimson, rethinking the removal of the mask entirely. Inara laughed as he slipped it back on. “That’s...good.”

“You blush with your ears, darling, that mask will not spare you.” Inara closed her pouch and began to unclip her own veil from her hair. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my shuttle. Advice...tools...a pep talk, perhaps…”

“It  _ is  _ possible for a man to die of embarrassment, you know. Cardiac arrest, the heart just...stops.” Simon swore as she turned away, ignoring her self-satisfied smile. “I’ll call you if I have a crisis.” 

XXXX

He lingered in the entry to the bay from the infirmary, watching Mal dispense cash into Kaylee and Jayne’s eager hands. They were bound for the casino for the night. The lift door was lowered, with Book settling in at its corner with a pistol and a pitcher of lemonade, determined to read and people-watch while the rest of them made their trips. Inara had kindly offered to keep River in her shuttle for the evening to practice calligraphy. 

There was a crisis of conscience, but not the one he was expecting. River had come to him an hour or so before and asked that he raise her nighttime dose of sedative. She explained that the planet was much louder than orbit had been, and she didn’t trust herself to sleep at all without it. The subtext was that she didn’t trust herself not to have an emergency and pull Simon away from his evening. He was still gnawing on the request, though he’d obliged. It made sense that a crowded city would alarm her, but he was still questioning the wisdom afterwards. It felt...selfish. Even though it was it was her idea. 

Zoe trailed down the stairs next, her fingers laced in her husbands and a sunny smile on her face. She wore a summer dress in rich green, and her hair was down. Wash grinned ear to ear, flashing his best I’m-in-trouble face, and Simon felt himself return it. He was nervous. Very nervous, and yet...also very not. 

The  _ manal  _ was tied around his throat, and he’d changed into a black cravat and shirt to complement it without drawing attention. The silver chain was the closest thing to jewelry he’d worn in years aside from the occasional tie pin. He pulled it up over his chin and nose and adjusted the tension bead at the back, ruffling his hair so it fell naturally over it. The weight bead fell cool against the back of his neck, but he supposed he’d adjust. Mal tilted his head slightly as he approached, taking in the mask. “Are we robbing someone?”

Simon rolled his eyes and pushed past him, waving goodnight to Book as he headed down the walk. The captain paused to speak with the preacher a moment before heading out...as far as Simon knew, none of them were coming back tonight. Jayne and Kaylee were on a mission to find dates not-each-other, and had booked rooms at the hotel as well in the event they were successful. The party stayed within a few paces of each other until they reached the end of the dock and the beginning of paved road, then went their separate ways. Wash and Zoe made a beeline for the restaurant district, and Jayne and Kaylee stayed with them for a short while before veering off towards the dull roar of the strip and its ambient glow against the evening clouds. If it weren’t for the cameras that entailed, he would have followed, but he knew better than to risk the security. He wished them luck at the tables and turned to Mal, curious. 

“I don’t...date. Unfortunately. If you were expecting me to have a plan, I’ll have to disappoint you.” 

“I’m aware...last time I took you out, you tried to pay, if I recall.” Mal answered with an easy smirk. He gestured in the opposite direction, where the night market was in full sprawl. “My plan consisted of questionable food and equally questionable vendors.” 

“That sounds...amazing.” Simon smiled, starting off in the direction of the tents. Mal fell into step with him and he let his elbow brush Simon’s as they walked. The doctor bypassed any kebab stand that sold a recognizable animal on sticks, and some for which ‘recognizable’ would be a generous allowance. They settled on one with vegetables and cubed meat that was touted as beef and tasted similar enough that Simon could lock the lie into his mind long enough to eat. 

He found the stall selling companion wares and tried to imagine Inara, a bonafide companion stepping in, and how the vendor must have panicked and preened in equal measure. She was right to a point, without the power of a trained companion, it all looked trite and gaudy. The consummate confidence she exuded is the only reason the wardrobe made sense. It made him oddly self conscious to be wearing a piece of it, though he had better reason than most.  

Simon turned into the long tent without really thinking about it, taking in the wash of colors and incense. The incense was legitimate, he knew because he recognized it. One wall was dedicated to clothing, and the central aisle was a glass case full of oddities and...tools. Simon flushed and spun on heel to inspect a rack of scarves as Mal followed him in with an appraising look at the surroundings. 

“Simon, are you shopping for toys?”

“...No.” Simon answered, more sharply than he meant to, the telltale heat in the tips of his ears indicating it was not yet safe to turn around. “I thought...there may be more  _ manal _ , or something.” 

“Good, because I already own every toy I have interest in using.” 

That made his heart skip, although not unpleasantly. He turned to fix Mal with a raised eyebrow, but the captain, didn’t elaborate, lingering over another case with a series of short arms in it. Ornate daggers and a glass vial of acupuncture needles with gilded handles. The doctor rolled his shoulders, trying to dismiss the sudden round of nerves he was experiencing, but the smirk lingered in the corner of Mal’s mouth and he was...really too interested in the set of claws. Not that they could afford them anyway, they were set with emeralds and made of fine silver.

He pulled Mal out of the shop to save his sanity, dragging him several steps until Mal laughed and planted his feet, drawing Simon up short. He caught him by the forearm and pulled him closer, talking over his ear to be heard. “Relax, I was just teasing.” 

“You are more than enough to keep me entertained, Mal.” Simon offered, resting a hand over his. 

Mal’s eyes took on that wicked glint again, and he nodded. “For a good while, at least. I’ll introduce you to new things when I know you better.” 

So he hadn’t been ‘just teasing’. Simon’s panic must have shown in his eyes, because Mal brushed a hand over the doctor’s face to dismiss it, turning back to the crowd. “When I know you better.”


	33. Chapter 33

They walked for an hour or two. Simon didn’t realize how circuitos the route was until it let out near the hotel again and he paused at the sight of it, glancing at Mal. The man didn’t pause in his step at all, leaving Simon to catch up as they entered through a side door and the lobby opened before them. Mal turned back to him with a warm look, his hand resting at his elbow as he handed the key over. “Go on up. I’ll grab something to drink.”

Simon nodded dully, smirking behind his _manal_. He took the stairs in lieu of the elevator, anything to shake some of the nervous energy he wore painted from the shoulders down. He was nervous, his body betrayed it, but his head was clear, playing through the next five or six steps before he arrived to enact any of them. He opened the room to find their bags at the foot of the bed, tucked there by Zoe on her initial visit. She and Wash were on another floor, and he was secretly glad that they’d made it in without running into either of them. Simon wasn’t sure his pride could handle a blow like that, right before going to bed. 

Bed. With Mal. More, with Mal. He paused to stare at the blanket as he pulled the _manal_ from over his ears and folded it down around his throat. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten to sleep several times by imagining this. He’d been wondering since that first trip in the shuttle, since their first kiss, just... _ since _ . It was so strange to realize that was hardly two weeks ago. There was a degree of intent in the way that Mal pursued him that made his heart quicken and his hands itch for skin. He’d get to have that tonight, and the privacy to enjoy it. 

He prepped first, showering afterwards in a meditative trance, watching the water run and basking in the heat of it. He was spoiled for these now. The showers on Serenity were rigged for three gallons per shower, and just warm enough to make the argument. It had never warranted complaining, the fact that it was warmed at all was a luxury. These though, this endless hot water and room to spread his arms and stretch if he wanted...this is what Serenity deserved. Simon was pretty sure he’d have to have Kaylee and Wash lobby along with him, but not everyone on the boat was exmilitary. Tankless hot water was easy enough to install, and they could still ration it as needed. 

It was an underhanded attempt to distract himself, preparing that speech. He was still riding the high of his epiphany. The shower outlasted him, and he reluctantly turned off the water when he heard the door close outside the bathroom. The mirror was fogged, his reflection a pale outline with the few dark marks still visible even through the film of water. Mal had a wicked mouth. It made him smile as he toweled off and debated on how he was going to leave the room. His nerves won out and he slipped his pants back on, throwing the towel over his shoulders. 

Mal was tucking a bottle into the fridge when he entered the room, shivering at the temperature difference. He ignored him in favor of the thermostat on the wall, dialing the temperature up a few degrees and trying not to tense when Mal’s arms slid around his waist a second later. “You’re not going to be cold.”

“I  _ am  _ cold.” 

“But you’re not  _ going  _ to be.”  Mal muttered this thickly in the crux of his throat and shoulder, pulling the towel out of the way of his mouth and Simon’s knees buckled at the heat of his tongue and teeth. There wasn’t time to be nervous, Mal had hands on his hips next, turning and backing him against the wall until it was cool down the length of his back and his mouth returned. “This was a good idea.”

“You’re welcome.” Simon answered breathlessly, and Mal laughed at the sass of it, biting at the lobe of his ear. Simon was learning how much he loved to be kissed, touched in general really, every pass of the captain’s hands felt like a brush with live wire. He did nothing so trite as swoon, but his heart was roaring by the time his arms slipped around Mal’s neck and he held on. Mal’s mouth was an experience in itself. He coaxed reactions and swallowed every sound between them as he made Simon’s head spin. The tease of teeth, the tilt of his head to let him deeper, the push and pull, and he was just...leaning, now, wasn’t he? The long line between them broke at the knee, because Mal was forcing his between, and the doctor’s nails bit at the pressure on his groin. He pulled back to breathe, fuck, just...get real air in his lungs, and groaned as the captain immediately ducked lower, returning his attention to his throat. “Mal... _ Mal _ , your clothes…”

Fuck, the heat of his mouth over Simon’s ear had him up on tiptoe. 

He relented long enough to get his suspenders off his shoulder and his mouth found the bruise from the previous night because Mal was a creature of habit and Simon was ashamed of the sound he made. At least, he was trying to be, somewhere between forcing his forearms between them and working at the buttons on Mal’s shirt. Mal did nothing to help, caging him against the wall with his elbows while he reenacted the earning of that mark, God, just...god  _ damn  _ it. 

Simon pushed him, in earnest, for all the good it did. The captain simply leaned back and the look on his face burned through whatever protest he’d been about to form, but the moment brought some clarity. Mal rolled his shoulders, hiked the shirt up and over his head, ignoring the buttons altogether. Some memory of that skin made its way to his mouth, because Simon’s eyes were immediately mapping every nick and scar, including the ones he’d closed himself, and his desire brought him off the wall. Mal backed up a vindictive step, working on his belts. The guns were folded into the chair next to the bed, and Mal turned his back on him, and Simon felt his fingers twitch. 

He wanted to trace every line, every muscle with the pads of his fingers and then his tongue. The thought consumed him and he’d taken two steps forward when Mal pointed at the bed and stripped his belt through the loops with the other hand. 

And Simon went, derailed entirely from what had seemed a single-minded intent to touch. To the bed, then. 

He curled onto its edge warily, but the captain did not make him wait. In a short step he was at the bedside, knocking Simon’s knees apart and guiding his hands to the buttons holding his trousers closed. He ignored how badly they were shaking, wetting his lips as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to one of the shrapnel marks just above the line of fabric. He remembered pulling the glittering metal out, and firmly pushed that thought aside. He undid the buttons one at a time while Mal worked his fingers through his hair, petting roughly, and Simon gave himself over to that, focusing on his task. 

His fingers threaded under the waistband, and he had the urge to look up, confirm he was...allowed to do this, he wasn’t sure. It had been in the snap of Mal’s wrist when he pointed at the bed, and the dark blue-grey of his eyes as he touched his tongue to the scar gently. Meeting his eyes, he got a short nod, and his eyes half closed in relief, hungry for skin. He pressed his forehead to Mal’s stomach as he eased it down, feeling it catch lightly on the half-hard length of his cock, and the scent took him back to a night with much more alcohol and a lot of less self restraint. He pushed the fabric down and Mal stepped out of it, Simon’s hands roaming back up his thighs as he took him in. His own need was straining against the coarse line of his zipper since he hadn’t bothered with underwear after the shower, but he was younger than Mal, and he didn’t mind coaxing the captain along. God, not at all. 

Lizard brain peeked from behind the curtain and told him that Mal fully hard would be a force to be reckoned with, but he slammed that curtain and the accompanying nerves closed. He refused to default to his shell when stressed, Simon  _ wanted  _ this. Wanted to feel it, feel every catch and drag of skin, the heat of him, wanted to feel that burning look all the way down his spine. Those hands in his hair were slowing, gauging his reaction, and he poured every ounce of desire into his eyes for Mal’s benefit as he brushed his mouth over that warm line, then ignored it in favor of the much more prominent scar that had, if he had to choose a moment, started all of this. 

Just the tip of his tongue, following that line up, and then line of his hip, down again. A ghost of a kiss at the bottom, and a slow drag of lips down to his tattoo, and felt Mal’s cock twitch in answer, those fingers pressing at his scalp. Simon shivered under his hands, grazing his teeth over the mark and felt Mal tense. Yes, he could worship.  _ More  _ than capable, and he heard the captain murmur his name like a curse when he trailed his fingertips down his length. He took his time with it, marking both above and below the scar with gentle pressure, and it was the final nip of his teeth on the bone of his hip that broke that lovely self control down into something more visceral. Mal’s hand snapped to his jaw as Simon touched his tongue to the tip of his cock in invitation, and much to his disappointment, pulled him up. 

The look on Mal’s face was a bastard of gratitude and warning, Simon knew that his own was bordering a pout but Mal made short work of his pants and the doctor lost his breath to feel the long line of their bodies meet at last without fabric between. Mal kissed him again, hand migrating the scarce few inches to his throat. He was moving, no, being moved, brought to his knees on the bed as Mal overtook him and then dipped to the side, settling his back against the headboard. 

_ You’ll ride me, to exhaustion. _

The words came back with ringing clarity, and Simon froze there, eyes wide. He hadn’t forgotten, the answer came silently in his smirk and the other hand found his bicep to continue his interrupted movement forward, until he was on his knees over the captain’s hips. Simon hovered there, flushing crimson as he wet his lips and tried to think of a protest. He hadn’t anticipated this, this sudden rush of shyness that had him hiding in Mal’s throat. He distracted himself by kissing feather light down the line of his throat, feeling Mal shiver under him. 

No dice, the captain’s hands settled firmly on his hips and pulled him down until they were touching again, the the heat of him inspired Simon to rock his hips. Mal hissed in a breath, cursing about his impatience and his own control. Simon nipped his ear in answer and Mal all but growled at him. “You make it hard to be a gentleman about this, Simon.” 

Simon grinned breathlessly, gasped at the shock of Mal’s hand settling around his own cock without a scrap of hesitation. That first long stroke was enough to bring him out of his skin, “ _ Ah _ , fuck--”

Mal made an amused sound at having the upper hand again, and Simon felt him reach to the side for the bottle, glad that at least one of them had some forethought in that regard. Another stroke had his knees pressing either side of the older man’s hips, but he bit back his sound and Mal raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no, you’re not going quiet on me here, doc.” 

He was generous with the lubricant, and the next glide was absolute sin, back to the base and up, and Simon felt the words coming without his permission, closing his eyes against it, “God, god, Mal...I...That isn’t f--”

“Fair?” Mal inquired, brushing his thumb over the tip in a way that rocked him, his hands flying to the captain’s hair. “No. You begging me to fuck you for the better part of an hour last night with no prep and no gag, that was...that was unfair. This?”

Again, and Simon writhed, hands tensed into claws at the slow drag of skin. “This is earned.”

“Mal, I can’t.” Simon tried to back away, but the captain’s knees came up to trap him in reach, and there were fingers threading into his hair and then  _ gripping _ , and Simon whined, hips twitching back into the tight circle of his fingers.

“You will.” Mal said simply, against the line of his throat, and it was all Simon could do to hold on. Every stroke was electric, adding to the pressure in his chest until he realized some minutes later that he was making sound with every pass, and that was completely beyond his control. Mal timed it to his breathing, every inhale, every desperate mutter, and he felt his thighs tense. 

  
“Go on.” 

“ _ Mal-- _ ” 

The grip tightened in increments into something painful and that was beautiful, the sharp contrast to the insistent touch on his cock poetic in ways he’d never considered before. He’d known it was coming, he just wasn’t prepared for how quickly it wrecked him, and no matter how many times he pulled against it, it would not yield. If anything, as he drew closer, it twisted--

“Simon.” 

It was an order, he knew it was, but his hands flew to the older man’s wrist trying to alleviate the pressure enough to focus, and Mal’s hand sped up. Skin, callous, raw nerves, he felt himself shaking with it and it dawned on him that Mal was...not, shaking. His grip was perfectly level, unwavering, holding Simon at the end of his tether with a patience that would surely be the death of him. He dared open his eyes, and regretted that, because Mal was looking at him like...God, he didn’t know. Reverent, hungry, demanding, it all collided there in his eyes, and something broke in him at the sight. Words spilled from his mouth without direction, without any semblance of coherence, he could barely hear himself over his heart--”Mal, Mal, please...Mal, please, that’s perfect, I’m--Mal, fuck, don’t stop, Mal... _ Mal-- _ ”

Mal groaned lowly, rocking his hips once, the heat of his cock brushing close enough to be a threat, and somewhere between those eyes, that grip, that last... _ stroke… _ “Good.”

Simon  _ broke _ , flying apart at the seams, and curled forward with the force of it, hard enough to break Mal’s grip in his damp hair and he was just...fucking done, shaking, his own hand covering the captain’s to still it on his too-sensitive skin. He was taken aback at the dampness between their fingers, too high to blush, toes curled, boneless. 

Mal held him shifting slightly to free his own cock between them and brace Simon slightly higher on his thigh. His mouth fell on Simon’s shoulders, with no intent to bruise this time, and Simon shivered despite himself. “You’ll spoil me for this.” 

“Hmm?” Simon asked, still trying to sort out his tongue and how it worked. 

“The sounds. The begging.” Mal brushed his finger over the tight ring of muscle, and Simon forced himself not to tense as it slipped inside. He’d done his prep, he’d...well, not practiced, but attempted some degree of adjustment to this sensation in the shower, and Mal made a low sound of approval in his chest. “I love the way you sound.” 

“Then...ah, easy...why would you gag me?”

“That was your suggestion, actually.” Mal’s humor was predatory, his free hand pushing at Simon’s chest to get him to lean back into the deeper touch, eyes roaming his chest. “You were very keen on getting me out of my clothes.” 

“I believe it, but...” Mal curled his finger slightly and Simon stuttered, brushing a hand over his mouth as he tried to create words through the sensation. “That... might take some convincing.” 

Mal lifted his eyebrows in answer, reaching for the bottle again and leaning up to kiss him through the second finger. That was as far as he’d gotten on his own, and Mal let him breathe, both hands tangled in his hair, until he adjusted. He was glad for this direct approach, he wasn’t sure he could handle an outright negotiation regarding how they were going to go about this. He let his own hand wrap around Mal’s cock, mapping it out with his finger and trying to deny the spike of anxiety. Lizard brain needed to shut up now, there was work to be done. 

The captain’s impatience was telling, but a sharp gasp from Simon slowed his hand on the third finger, a hand falling to the back of his neck in apology. He paused until Simon nodded him on again, resolutely pressing back against his fingers. It hurt. It did, but no unbearably so, not so bad as getting shot or beaten or stabbed, all things Mal had survived on at least two separate occasions. A vision of these heavy hands assaulting the stablehand came to mind and the stark contrast was oddly reassuring. Mal was very capable of hurting him, and the fact that he was trying very hard not to was thrilling. The rough edges were just evidence of his hunger, and Simon could empathize on that point. It’d been years. It felt like forever, with the trauma between. The moment was made all the sweeter with the wonder he felt at how he’d just...given up, on ever having this again. 

And god, but he wanted. The stillness was driving him insane, and he gave the first cautious rock of his hips, shivering at the slide. Mal tensed under him, he watched the older grapple with his self control, and kissed him, promising it wouldn’t be much longer. Not at all. After a while, he fumbled for the bottle and poured the oil generously through his fingers to Mal’s cock, spreading it down the length. He wanted too badly to wait. 

It was Simon that lifted himself away from Mal’s hand and guided him into place. Mal’s hands flew to his back, skirting up his shoulders, back down to his hips to help support his weight. It hurt. God, it hurt, and Simon concentrated on breathing for a long moment, taking him in increments until he passed the point where the fingers could reach. It took forever to settle but soon the tops of Mal’s thigh rested against his ass, and the captain’s breath had gone thready, his forehead hot against Simon’s chest. 

Too cautious, too kind, the stillness was going to be the end of him. The longer he stayed still, the more the ache was taking root, so he licked his lips with a shaking breath and put his hands in Mal’s hair, withdrawing slightly. 

The result was immensely gratifying, he felt Mal shaking under him, his heels digging into the bed in the effort to stay still. The grip at his hips became rough, harsh, guiding him back down. Simon groaned low in his chest and pulled up, and Mal brought him back, and so it went until the feel of him became more than an ache, became a  _ loss _ , when he withdrew. He’d never bought into the idea of fullness being satisfying in its own right, but Mal sinking back against the headboard with his pupils blown dark and struggling to control himself was...more. It was so much more than he’d ever imagined for himself. 

And so Simon rode him, slowly at first, hands braced on his chest as he sorted out the roll and snap that made Mal lose his breath, foregoing control over his own sounds for the sake of movement. The hooded expression on his face darkened, and Simon watched that storm sweep through, taking all semblance of gentility with it the second it became apparent that the pain had subsided. 

Mal’s hands tightened on his hips and when he rose to meet the next stroke, he gave Simon the barest tilt and his prostate made itself known in a shocking array of colors behind his eyes. Simon’s hands flew to the captain’s wrists, mouth falling open in shock, and all he got in response was the challenge. Again. Again. 

God, he was going to die like this. Trapped in that stare and Mal braced him and just  _ took _ . He’d shown his hand too early, because it did hurt, but he was half hard again already, and he could still taste his last orgasm on the back of his tongue and it wasn’t fair that Mal’s voice could  _ burn  _ like that--

  
“ _ Simon _ .”

For the next to rush in on its heels like this, he was sure he wasn’t made for this--

“There?”

What a stupid question, he thought, but the words in his mouth didn’t match-- “ _ Yes _ .” 

He  _ was  _ made for this. Mal seemed determined to prove it, the pace moving them further down the bed as he strove to get closer and at some point, Simon came into his own. He clenched, watching Mal’s expression devolve into fire, and snatched his wrists up to free his hips and  _ bucked _ .  The pace was immediately much, too much, painful in a way that he knew he would feel in the morning and the rest of the day, but that was a problem for Tomorrow-Simon. Right-Now-Simon was too busy, his words devolving into sharp sounds every time Mal bottomed out. Mal himself had lost whatever degree of mercy he had at the defiance of the motion, and the lizard brain wondered if he’d try to apologize for that in the morning. 

When Simon came the second time, it was with nails down his back and one hand around his throat holding him at the exact height Mal needed to finish his upstroke, snarling into the doctor’s ear. “ _ Now _ .” 

And he  _ did _ , with something just short of a scream on his lips, and it  _ wasn’t _ ,  _ over _ .  

Five, six, he lost count, his entire world honed to a razor focus on the insistence, the power, the faltering rhythm and when Mal finally came, he threw his head back and curled in with the same motion. The nails at the small of his back broke skin, he was dimly aware of it happening, but was too shaken to complain, if any complaint existed to offer. 

Simon rested his forehead on Mal’s head, arms tight around his shoulders until he felt them drop, and tilted the captain’s chin up to capture his mouth again, reverent in the aftermath. He lingered, and he felt the second Mal’s apology began to creep into the connection, and nipped his bottom lip with a rakish grin. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm.” Simon hummed, settling over Mal’s chest to focus on catching his breath. The captain’s hands fell on his shoulders, and Simon shivered, knowing there were welts on the one side. “I’ve never...you know, twice like that…”

“I’m…” Mal paused, shaking his head with a deep chuckle. “I’m...not sorry.” 

“Good.” Simon answered, hissing a breath through his teeth as they separated, and Mal lifted him further up the pillows. He was dead weight. Everything below the chin offline and running on emergency power up in headquarters. He blinked slowly when Mal ran a hand down his side, and sighed, “Hm.”

“What?”

“We should have booked two nights.” 

“Endurance before appetite, Simon.” Mal muttered, turning over on his back. “That said...the night ain’t over. Take a nap. I’ll give you two hours.” 

Simon groaned, rolling into his side. “If you touch me before then, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” 


	34. Chapter 34

There were not nearly enough phases in the waking up portion of the following morning. He got one, the gentle track of Mal’s hand down his back as he left the bed. The decorative extra pillows hit him in the shoulder as Mal tossed them out of his way, hauling his bag over to grab clothes. Simon drifted off again. 

He was aware of the shower running, but not truly awake yet as he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His entire midsection lit up like a bonfire with the stretch that entailed, and he hissed slightly as he curled his legs. Oh yes, walking today was going to be interesting. Mal had kept his word on waking Simon every few hours to put him back to sleep, and his body was a walking inventory of bruises and unusual tension. He’d given up on sleep after the last round and so showered at four or five in the morning. His hair stood up on one side, curving in dramatic waves that refused to obey his irritated fingers. Simon managed the pants and to carefully drape a shirt over his shoulders before the knock on the door sounded. 

He made his way slowly to pull it open and Zoe was far too bright, too knowing, to be real. She stood in the hallway with a bottle of water and Wash, who looked as though he’d had enough alcohol the night before to put the crew under. He blinked, and there was a thirty second pause where both men came online enough to realize the other was standing there. 

“...’Lo doc.” 

“Wash.” 

“I thought…” He paused, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. “Zoe, you weren’t joking.” 

“No, dear.” 

“Simon is here. Simon is…” He glanced down. “Oh my.” 

Simon followed his gaze and then pointedly pulled his shirt closed, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “I am. Oh my.” 

“He didn’t believe me.”

“I didn’t believe her.” Wash echoed his wife, still searching for coherency. 

Zoe rolled her eyes and pushed past him with her luggage cart, hauling the captain’s bag and then Simon’s onto its small platform. “We’re checking up on Kaylee and Jayne and then heading back. Just wanted to put eyes on everyone, make sure we’re all in one piece. We need to be in the air an hour from now.”   


“Simon, why are you in Mal’s room?”

Simon opened his mouth to reply, but Mal’s voice cut through the bathroom door. “Why are  _ you  _ in my room, Wash?”

The pilot jumped a half foot in the air, staring at the crack of light under the door as though it had bitten him. “...I dunno, cap’n, my wife is here. And...my doctor...and…”

“I’ll see you both on Serenity.” Simon suggested in a clinical tone that implied he’d not had enough caffeine to play twenty questions yet. “I’ll go check on Kaylee.” 

“She’s four doors down on the right.” Zoe waved as she brushed past him with the luggage, taking her husband by the elbow. 

“Wait, does this mean we’re kicked out of the suite?” 

Simon shut the door and leaned against it. It took him two or three tries to get all of his buttons closed, and he was greeted by a wave of steam as Mal stepped out, peering cautiously around the room. “Mal, what’s ‘the suite’?”

“It’s...the captain’s suite. Largest room on the boat, only one with a private shower.” Mal answered, roughing a towel through his hair. Simon grinned and reached out to capture the corners, pulling him closer with the fabric and kissing him as he surfaced. 

“Don’t kick them out of the suite.” 

Mal shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, don’t plan to. Serenity’s upper deck is modular, we can tweak it around a bit if we wanted. Maybe move to the other side and make another suite, take a wall down. Won’t take much. How are you?” 

“Me? I’m…” Simon pushed himself off the door gingerly, biting down on a wince and blushing lightly. “I’m...you know...ow.” 

“I see.” Mal tipped his chin up and glanced down his shirt, the hand sliding to grip the back of his neck with warm fingers. “Ow, I’ll survive, or Ow, we’re-never-doing-that-again?” 

“Ow, do you think we have time for one more?” 

Mal broke into a laugh and left him at the door, searching the room for his boots. “Go see Kaylee.” 

Simon nodded to himself, slipping into his shoes and out into the hallway, counting down the rooms according to Zoe’s instructions. He raised his hand to knock, clearing his throat. “Hey Kaylee...are you up?”   


“Just a minute!” There was a scramble on the other side of the door, and Simon bit his tongue, backing up a step when he heard the locks opening. Two men greeted him...rather, one tried, but the whiskey rolling off of him in waves was enough to make Simon’s eyes water. The other one gave an apologetic smile and dragged him off towards the elevators. 

“ _ Duōme làngfèi _ .”  What a waste, Kaylee muttered as she appeared in the frame next, twisting half her hair up into a bao. She caught his raised eyebrow and elbowed him. “I only slept with the one.”

“Oh.” Simon nodded as though that explained everything, as though it were obvious, watching the drunk collapse into the elevator while the other cussed and tripped over him. 

Kaylee leaned in. “The other was too drunk. He tried though, poor thing.” 

“....Oh.” 

“Mhm.” She said, commiserating with herself, arms crossed over her overalls. “Twins is still on the bucket list, I guess.” 

“Obviously.” Simon nodded sagely, wincing as the sound of retching echoed through the hall just as the elevator slid shut. “We’re, uh… packing up.” 

“I wonder if Jayne got his.” 

“ _ Don’t _ ...tell me what that means. Please. I beg of you.” 

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folk, it's been a week here in the real world. Hopefully we resume our regular outpouring of story from this point on.

Simon sat on the catwalk over the cargo bay, leaning against the end of the railing with a foot swinging over the edge. Below him, a series of plastic tanks were splayed across the floor with a rubber mat underneath, and Kaylee stalked between them all with River on her heels. Together, they measured out the water into each tank, River critically adding or removing as she saw fit. Wash and Kaylee had spent a solid hour revisiting their respective databanks of electrochemical engineering texts before River swung down from the ceiling and wordlessly painted the equation onto the glass tablet. Wash took one look at it and nodded, passing it off to Kaylee and retiring to the cockpit with mutters about how he failed that exam anyway. 

He and Book were working on the boring stuff, going through the documentation the older man had managed to borrow from the public offices on Persephone. Book was researching failed audits to narrow down exactly what their margin of error would be when they started dosing the property with the chemical. Simon was putting notations on pages between each record for Jayne’s benefit, letting him know.

Kaylee stepped back and pressed a button, peering curiously at the tanks. River began pointing at the ceiling and Kaylee nodded, slowly closing new circuits to raise the voltage. The chemical reaction was almost invisible, a faint shimmer surrounding the scraps of metal as the current picked up enough to start breaking the metal down on a molecular level. It would take a week to make enough solvent of sufficient concentration to fill the reserve tank sitting in the corner. 

Jayne had been banished from all further proceedings. He’d watched Kaylee and Wash debate for twenty minutes over how they were going to keep the filled tank from being hauled off and installed immediately. It was borderline heated, and Simon learned that both of them used petnames to devastating effect when they were aggravated. Kaylee leveled ‘honey’ at him with all the weight of a sledgehammer. ‘Sweetie’ appeared to be Wash’s flavor of ‘idiot’. The mercenary vanished for a few minutes before reappearing, stepping between them without a word and slapping a piece of tape with the words ‘non-potable’ above the spigot on the tank. 

That was the second time Wash retired to the cockpit for the day. 

Simon felt like he should come up with some question only Wash could answer to soothe his ego. He was mulling that over in the back of his head between papers. It bothered him to see the pilot stewing over his lack of participation in the caper. He knew it was a sore point in general, what with his wife taking second seat to the captain in most of their business and crime affairs. This was a long game, not much call for a pilot in the works. Simon imagined he’d be going stir crazy too. They had a four hour flight remaining before they reached the moon’s orbit and Wash estimated they’d be ready for the shuttles around six that evening. 

It took him much longer than it should to realize that Wash could be doing the documents instead of Simon. He asked Book if he would mind relocating, and they packed up their small library and trundled up the stairs. Book settled into the co-pilot bay while Simon set his folder directly behind Wash’s dinosaur collection. It took a few minutes to explain what he was doing, but when he left the cockpit, Book was already handing over a fresh stack of failed audits for Wash to compare and makes notes on. Simon felt a little better. 

He spent the last of the flight at the table, thumbing through the potential purchases and their medical histories. Mal’s initial search was simply to get a picture of the kind of people they were dealing with and, as they found out later, see if his mother was still on the moon. Simon was now sorting them into two stacks, one of which had relevant symptoms that he could use to fabricate his epidemic poisoning story. They kept two kettles on the stove so the crew wandering in and out could brew whatever caught their fancy when they took their breaks. As the moon drew closer, conversation tapered, everyone thinking through their role in the plan, either on Serenity or on the ground. The ease of the morning and the night off before it faded. It was a long flight. 

XXXX 

“Are you military?” Thomas asked, pulling his dappled mare up alongside Simon as they paused at the river’s edge. Simon lost himself in the ripple of sunlight out in the middle of the current, marvelling at the pace of the water. It was a beautiful morning, and Bijou was the hands down the easiest horse he’d ever ridden. Her gait was smooth, and her natural curiosity seemed to mirror his own, taking him to alcoves of trees where wildflowers grew, and here to the bank, stopping just ar the edge of the grasses. 

“No.” Simon answered distractedly, dismounting so Bijou could kneel at the edge for a sip of water. He wandered along, Thomas keeping close as they investigated the curve where the bank dipped down to rocks, and then sandy clay, the water curling whirlpools where it met the  resistance of earth. “Why?”

“I just...well, you’re not like the other one.” 

“Vaelsen?” Simon asked, uttering the doctor’s name for the first time. He and Book had done some extensive reading on the man. He was not a medic at heart, having started in the military as infantry. When the war broke out, he changed fields and undertook the Alliance medical training program to add a degree of prestige to his war history, but as far as Book had been able to find, he hadn’t participated in any battle after the age of 35. Now in his fifties, he seemed content to ride the license he’d earned in the service and took on absentee contracts like Marigny. “He’s not a real doctor.” 

“He is, though.” 

“He’s...had the training, but he’s not in it to help people. He’s never done time in a hospital or even a clinic, and he’s never actually taken the certification exam.” 

Thomas’ tone took on an edge as he revealed this. “How is that possible?”

“...He’s embedded. A war relic. He probably gets a proxy to take the exam for him every five years.” Simon answered bitterly, attempting to skip a stone over the river’s surface. “How are we different?”

“You did this...thing, to the wounds. Where you cleaned up the edges.” Thomas muttered, dismounting himself and picking up a handful of smooth stones. He handed one off to Simon and pitched the other as far as he could, to the middle of the river. “He didn’t do that. I wish he had.”

“He’s not a surgeon.” Simon offered gently, knowing without being a told what a jagged mess the man’s own brand must be. “And he probably wouldn’t care for your dignity if he were.” 

“I think that’s the truth of it. He never touches them. He’ll administer needle medications and then talk me through bandaging them up.” Thomas sounded bitter. “He’s not as good at that as you are, either.” 

“Flattering me won’t change my mind, Thomas.” Simon offered after quiet pause, throwing his own stone. “I can’t sanely work here.”

“I know. You impressed him, though, that’s why he made the offer.” 

“And he’s hard to impress, that’s not lost on me.” Simon answered, turning to watch Thomas’ profile in the morning sun. It was cooler here by the water, but the fact that it was so warm, so early, told him that the rest of day promised to be miserable. “But I can’t."

“He’ll keep asking.” Thomas said, resignedly. “He’s not angry yet, but he’s not used to being told no. If you keep refusing, he’ll be less polite about it.” 

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Violent?”

“No. But...he’d figure out that your name isn’t Jacob.” Thomas dusted his hands off, turning back to their horses. “And he’s the type to dig.” 


	36. Chapter 36

 

Simon had always had trouble feigning disinterest. It was something his father was quick to notice, gently steering him away from law and into a career that would benefit from a larger heart. He never had trouble making friends. He never needed to pretend to care for a stranger, that was coded into his personhood as easy as breathing. Despite his lack of trauma growing up, he never grew dismissive of the reality that people hurt each other. Despite his insistence that all people were capable of good, and compassion, he never failed to draw his line in the sand when his background warred with his choice of peers. He loaned expensive textbooks to poorer students, and he bought lunch on his ident card for the janitors that cleaned the labs.

Disinterest fit his father like a tailored suit. He’d called it a symptom of bias to show unnecessary compassion, something that Simon gave away like spare change. The third time he’d refused to let Simon give away real change, to a real person on the sidewalk with a sign and a blanket, Simon had refused to go on anymore walks with him. That, if he had to choose a moment, was the start of the divide between them. The gap that he never managed to bridge, even when River’s S.O.S had come through. She’d sent it to him. Not their parents.

Simon could not, however, pinpoint the moment he swore to be more than his father, as far as personhood went. There were many who would say he’d surpassed his father in that regard by the age of twelve, but thinking back, he struggled to see it. His father was warm, if not generous. His father was kind, if not frivolous. He made his fortune working as a prosecutor for a private law firm and then retired to state defense.  He wished more than anything that he could forget the months leading up to River’s escape, because they stripped the facade of warmth down to one of fear. Fear of not belonging, fear of giving up the status quo he’d devoted his life to achieving for their benefit. Simon had refused to be disowned. Simon left, first. 

Sitting at the dinner table between a slaver and a thief that he was pretty sure he cared very deeply about, he tried to remember that expression. The one his father had given him when he’d stepped out from under the hand on his shoulder and hardened his eyes. Hard, aloof, and disinterested. He’d seen it on his father’s face a thousand times and until that moment, it had felt foreign on his own. He clung to that image, wrapping his father over his face like an invisible  _ manal _ . He numbed his lips to Mal’s jokes. He turned his eyes from Thomas’ entreating glance. He let the barbed remarks of Marcus Camden in one ear and out the other. 

Stone. In that moment, he wished to be stone because even steel was malleable. “I will not accept a job from you, Master Camden.”

The wrinkles on either side of the man’s face were not from laughter, but that calculating look that slipped into place like an iron gate.  As though staring long enough would forge the answer he wanted to hear, and not the one he’d heard. Mal busied himself with the bottle of whiskey and collecting more roasted chicken, filling the silence with movement. Thomas hadn’t eaten much, and pushed his fork away with a quiet sigh. 

“I could afford to pay you a salary, instead of contracted work.” 

“It’s not a matter of how...legitimate, the job is. I can’t do this work. The work you’re specifically referring to, with this offer.” 

“You ain’t military, Jacob.” Camden said, clicking his tongue as he sat back. “I looked. But I liked your work. Why haven’t you called him?”

“Vaelsen?”

Camden nodded sharply. “Dr. Vaelsen.”

Simon glanced between Thomas and his father again, weighing the risk of lying. He wasn't good at this. This indifference. His rage bubbled too close to the surface, sharing this table with Marcus Camden again. He wished he’d bowed out of the greeting dinner, but Mal had insisted. He wanted to fling his bourbon into the man’s eyes. Stone...no unnecessary bias. Only what was useful. He didn’t think he could afford to lie. “...Bluntly, he’s not a real doctor.” 

Camden’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How you figure?”

“I spoke to Thomas about his handling of...the aftercare. There are steps he skips. Steps that no sane doctor who chose this profession would skip.” 

“The trimming.” Camden grunted, but nodded after a moment. “That got me thinking. Part of why I liked you.” 

“Affording someone their dignity after subjecting them to that level of trauma is--” Simon bit his tongue, because that was too rushed, and he felt Mal tensing beside him. He took a breath and finished his statement, rubbing his eyes. “...Not optional.” 

“Why haven’t you called him?” Camden iterated his question again. “Awful quick to demand his information after, weren’t you?”

“I was.” Simon grit his teeth and polished off his bourbon, requesting the bottle with a gesture. Mal passed it without a word. “But while I am not military, I am political, and it’s not in my best interest to speak to a man that could erase my career when my gut instinct is to knock his teeth out. He’s not a doctor.” 

Camden considered that, the corner of his mouth curling in a wry smile. “Maybe you’re not stupid.” 

“No.” Simon assured him, overpouring his glass. “I am the farthest thing from stupid, Master Camden.” 

XXXX

“We’re lucky Badger’s licenses aren’t complete shit.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s better you lay low and go to work. Stay out of his way.”

“I know.”

“...We can’t play the long game if he’s looking that hard at you, Simon.” 

“I  _ know _ ,  Mal.” 

XXXX

The ridge shimmered, a low breeze curling down the mountain side and flashing the silver underbellies of a million leaves.  The heat settled on the land like a heavy blanket, humid and bright. It made colors bleed, rising in waves from the packed earth of the road. Simon leaned on the doorframe of the office turned clinic,  staring at the charred remnants of the cabins closest to the plantation house. The foundations, really, they were the only things left. The area surrounding them was covered in a fine layer of ash and smoke residue; it'd come away on Simon's hand when he opened the clinic door. 

He watched the wagon pull up with the fourth round of patients for the day. He was making quick work, searching out each face for the one that promised new showers on Serenity. No matter his effort, he couldn’t quite tune out the excitement and relief they felt when they saw him signing off on a clean bill of health. The seconds after, when the grin faded, and the realization that a clean slate meant a full workload was not lost on him. He wore it on his shoulders like a heavy sack.

Jayne hopped down from the cart and offered his elbow to an elderly woman long enough for her to adjust her bag and step down. He came to lean on the side of the building next to Simon as he tucked a cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter until it caught. “Might get one more load in today if you’re quick. Thomas’ll have to bring ‘em round, I’m headed into the hills before too long.” 

“Good hunting.” Simon muttered, leaning slightly away from the smoke. “I’m sick of rabbit. What else is there?” 

“Pheasant, which is just fancy chicken. Duck. Probably snag a deer or two ‘fore I’m done.” 

“Venison sounds good.” Simon sighed, crossing his arms. He nodded across the way to the burnt out husks. “What do you think happened there?”

“Hell if I know...message to the owner, maybe.”

“Why not burn the plantation house. It’s almost always empty.” 

Jayne considered that with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, s’true.” 

“What if...it was a warning. To the new ones. Another slave from the camp trying to give the proverbial smoke signal.” 

“Little late, doncha think? Papers were signed before they landed.” Jayne murmured around his cigarette, half gone between his lips. “They waited till it was empty, like you said. Didn’t aim to hurt no one.” 

“Maybe Thomas will let me look over the files for the residents. Maybe they had a target.” 

“Suit yourself. Be funny if our guy was camped out in the first ruttin’ house on the right the whole time.” 

“That crossed my mind.” Simon nodded, smiling at a middle aged couple edging past him through the door. He waited until the last of the group trickled by before lowering his voice slightly. “I rode the river again this morning...there are cairns set up at the low points where they’ve tested in the past.”

“What now?”

“Ah...stacks of stones, obviously human made.” Simon clarified, running his fingers through his hair. “There’s four of them. If you stick to the mud around them, it should be a good starting point. Covers the back end of the field within walking distance, at least.” 

“Alright then.” Jayne nodded, stomping his cigarette out in the dirt as he straightened. “Told’em I was camping out, gonna take a tank with me. You hear any shots in the dark, probably me. I’ll flare if something goes wrong.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning then.” Simon turned up the short step to the clinic and paused. “Jayne...no rabbit. Please.” 

Jayne snorted, turning around the corner of the building towards the barn. 

XXXX

Simon was washing up when the first glint of amber light hit the windows. He got lost in the simplicity of it, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his own stash of antiseptic on the edge of the basin as he scrubbed his hands and forearms until they were pink. It wasn’t hot enough for hospital standards. Borderline scalding was the norm. He brushed under his nails and scrubbed every crevasse of his knuckles, rinse and repeat. He was on his fourth turn when the side door to the common area opened and Zoe stepped in, stripping off heavy canvas gloves. 

She hip-checked him out of his daze and out of the way, and Simon grinned as they fought over the nail brush. She won, of course. He could smell the sunlight on her skin, the heady of scent of lavender that clung to her clothing. It made him grin as he dried his forearms, watching her wash up the way he’d taught her. It made him happy that it was habit now. “You smell like summer.” 

“It was a hot one, today. “ She nodded, pushing a short brimmed straw hat off the wealth of her hair. “Managed to get a tank and a half down, though. It dried almost as quickly as I put it down.” 

“I hope they don’t decide to go to the irrigation system.” 

“That crossed my mind, so I broke it this morning.” She answered smugly. “Nothing serious, but enough to give us a warning if they go that route.” 

“You alarmingly brilliant woman.” Simon took his apron off and hung it on the nearest chair. He’d locked the office up after closing the makeshift clinic for the day. It was pleasing to find they’d just opted to bring in another table rather than dismantle his set-up after their trip back to Serenity. “Jayne’s in the hills tonight.” 

“He said as much. Hopes he catches something.” Zoe brushed past him, pointedly pulling his chair out as she made her way to the refrigeration unit the stablehands shared. From what he could see, it wasn’t nearly as stocked as the one in the plantation house but he kept quiet on that point. She turned back with two brown bottles with handwritten labels. 

Simon blinked, “You have beer? Down here?”

“The common folk aren’t so privileged to get an endless supply of whiskey, doc.” She used the side of the door to pop the bottlecaps and kicked it closed with her boot. “I couldn’t go that hard every night if I wanted to. Mal shouldn’t either.” 

Simon held up his finger to hold that point, upending his bottle with utter gratitude before clearing a quarter of it and wiping his mouth with a corner of the hand towel. “Right. And...you be the one to tell him that.” 

“He’s not my husband.” She answered, arching a brow. 

“No...No, you don’t get to look at me like that. When was the last time Mal listened to anyone but Mal?” Simon pointed out. 

Zoe nodded her assent, sipping at her own beer and making a face. “I don’t like heavy beers.” 

“I do. Now that I know it’s available, I will abandon the whiskey.” Simon shuddered despite himself, throat closing involuntarily at the memory of the liquor. “They way they go through it, you’d think it was sugar water and not gasoline.” 

“Not your preference?” Zoe’s tone turned teasing. “Were you weaned on fine cordials and scotches older than your women, doctor?”

“Ew, no.” Simon laughed despite himself. “I like...Sake. Rums and gins when I couldn’t get that. I was just a broke...well, an ‘allowanced’, college student, once.” 

“I haven’t had a good rum in ages.” Zoe eyed her bottle, thinking better of wasting it and taking another drink. “Wash bought me one for our first anniversary, I made it last two years after that.” 

“Rich and prosperous wishlist, then.” 

“Knowing him, it’s already on it.” A small smile curled onto her face at the thought of her husband, and Simon felt something warm bloom in his chest at the expression. 

“You two are great, you know.” 

“Mhm.” She paused, cutting her eyes at him. Simon glanced away, wondering if he’d pushed too far. He didn’t get to just...chat with Zoe very often. She was a quiet woman, preferring the company of a book and silk kimono in her downtime. Her quiet was the kind that was not to be disturbed, a carefully cultivated bubble that even River kept away from. “...You know he’s an idiot, right?”

“...Wash?” The first  mate rolled her eyes, and Simon caught himself, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “Oh, Mal...right….”

She chuckled at him, shaking her head gently. “I knew he liked you, I never expected him to do something about it.” 

“I don’t think anyone knows the inside of that man’s head, to be honest. I know I don’t.” Simon replied, rolling his bottle on its edge and admiring the dark liquid within. His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s strange to me, how this whole...thing has developed. It’s like it happened between pages. Between the lines. I didn’t realize I knew him well enough to care until he did something about it.” 

“Do you care? About him?” Zoe asked, but it was gentle question, and he was grateful for that. 

He nodded thoughtfully. “I do. I’ve just never...um...allowed myself the time, I guess. Never allowed myself a person. Between school, and then River...and after River, I never thought there’d be room for someone in my life. I didn’t expect to have much of a life to offer.”

She nodded, offering quietly, “Don’t think too much on it. If there’s any man that knows how to live in the short term, you’ve got him.” 

Simon grinned. “That’s a good way to put it. I can’t think beyond the next year right now, I don’t see any reason to refuse the company.” 

“Wash and I were together four years before I agreed to marry him.” Zoe seemed to catch herself, smiling again. “Well, before I told him we were getting married.” 

“Did he propose?”

“No, he just said he’d been waiting for me to come to that conclusion.” 

Simon laughed, imagining Wash had decided it himself within three months of meeting her. “I’m coming to love Serenity. River already does, but there’s a lot that I didn’t anticipate when I signed the passenger log. She’s carved a home for herself on that ship.” 

“So have you, if you’d stop to look around.” 

“I’m trying. I think Mal is helping me see that.” Simon took another long drink and licked his lips, studying the wood grain. “He makes me feel like I belong. Tethers me, in the here and now. I like the way he…” 

  
Simon paused, searching for his words. “It’s like he sidestepped the mask I had in place. I was carrying so much, I was kind of lost in it. And he took it from me, and put it down, and I can breathe now. I get to be Simon again.” 

“I think you give him too much credit, doc.” Zoe muttered, forcing another third of her beer down before clarifying. “You’ve been running a long time. Fight or flight can only carry you so far. You need people, and Serenity has that. And Mal’s just one person, not a ‘people’. He’s got a way about him, though. He’ll bring you home if you let him. After the Valley, that’s all he really wants.” 

“To find his people?”

“That.” Zoe said, polishing off her beer. “And to be someone’s home.” 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Friendos, time for the talk. 
> 
> I am kinky. Bonafide. This work will venture into elements of BDSM as it progresses, but all of the carnal variety. In my head, Mal is a carnal sensualist...meaning he's very dominant, but very, very focused on his partner. Simon is rather vanilla by comparison, though he also falls firmly into the spectrum of Brat with a splash of Masochist.
> 
> We will be exploring both. I would not describe Mal as highly fetishized, by any means, so don't worry...no floggers, rope, or crazy toys to follow. He does what works in the moment. You can expect edging, restraints, teeth, nails, vocal encouragement, minor pain play, etc.
> 
> I will do my best to isolate sex scenes and give you a head's up if it ventures somewhere you might find unsavory. That said, here's the porn.

Apparently, the trip to Serenity was just enough to throw them out of sync with the moon’s sun cycle, because it was well after midnight and Simon’s mind was nowhere near sleep. He tossed and turned for a few hours, trying various levels of clothing, fewer blankets, more pillows, and every nighttime ritual known to him. When he finally gave up, he glared at the bed as though it were to blame, wondering idly to himself where Jayne had ended up. He couldn’t see a campfire from the veranda, and aside from a few shots in the early evening, there’d been silence. No flares, for the hour that Simon allowed himself to watch. 

When he’d finally given up on the prospect of a decent night, he got up again and turned his lamp on. One of his few requests upon return was the use of an electric kettle he’d found stashed in the serving kitchen, and he’d set it up on top of the low bookshelf near the fireplace. When he caught himself watching water boil, he rubbed his face briskly and turned away. Day three, roughly fifty patients, and no sign of their mark yet. 

He was making good progress, however, at this rate, it’d be another week or two. He was pretty sure he could handle a week or two of gorgeous scenery and mundane doctoring. The newness and familiarity in equal measure gave the work a certain relish that he was clinging to. Knowing there was an end coming  made it even better. He entertained himself by silently conveying to each patient he treated that they wouldn’t have to wait much longer, they could give up that resignation in their faces. No one seemed to understand his silent screaming stare, but it didn’t matter. He felt good chanting it over and over behind his teeth, “You will be freed, I will end this place.” 

The knock on the door wasn’t even a knock, just a drumming of fingers, and his mood brightened instantly. He switched the kettle off and made his way to the door. Mal stood on the other side with a rakish grin, still drumming his fingers on the door without a word. Simon’s smile devolved to a smirk, holding it partially closed as though he didn’t intend to let the captain in. 

“My room is cold.” The captain said pointedly, as if that explained everything.  It was eighty degrees outside, there was no way Mal’s room was cold. Simon nodded slowly, but refused to budge, resting his shoulder on the door frame. The expression on Mal’s face made his head spin, the flash of his eyes at the challenge, and how the smile he wore took on the slightest edge. It was a hungry look. One he’d only recently learned to appreciate. 

His marks were fading. Simon refused to admit that he liked them, that he adored the single-minded intent it took to leave them. His skin really was resistant to bruising, so Mal’s efforts never failed to leave him breathless. Simon glanced over his shoulder into his own room with a considering look, giving a half shrug. “Mine isn’t.” 

“That was kind of my thinking.” Mal said lowly, drumming his fingers on the door again. 

Simon stalled anyway, pretending that he couldn’t feel the captain’s eyes roving the collar of his shirt like touch in itself. “How was your shift?”

“Over for a while, now. Had trouble sleeping.” Mal edged closer, sliding his boot into the doorway as though Simon really intended to keep him out. “Tends to put me in a mood.” 

“Are you asking to come in?”

Mal’s smirk only grew, his boot forcing the door open a few more inches. “After a fashion.”

It was tempting, in the the corner of his brain where sass and sarcasm resided, to close the door in his face and see if he really would force the issue. Make a game out of it. Pretend to deny how much he wanted those hands and those teeth, see how far Mal would go to convince him otherwise. He held out a moment longer, until he couldn’t meet the intensity of that stare anymore. Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar. 

It had barely clicked when a hand slipped around his throat and he was pulled back against the line of the captain’s chest, that dark voice suddenly in his  _ ear _ , “Tease.” 

He opened his mouth, though whether to confirm or protest was lost as those fingers  caught the line of his jaw and tilted his head to the side, exposing the long line of his throat. Mal’s mouth followed it, the line of his twice broken nose settling in behind the shell of his ear on the return stroke. Simon could feel his heartbeat under the captain’s fingers, rapid and airy, felt the tension in the older man’s frame as they stood like that for a long moment. 

The more he relaxed, the tighter Mal’s spring coiled. He felt it when he pressed his hips back against the front of his slacks, the deep exhale against his hair. It was heady feeling, to have this effect on a man who wore a poker face as his default. Simon brought his fingers up to ghost over the captain’s knuckles, not an apology, but a question at least. He felt Mal smile into his hair and then the hot line of his tongue traced Simon’s ear before settling his teeth faintly over the sensitive skin. Simon shivered, the touch electric, vaguely threatening, and perfectly possessive. He was learning how much he enjoyed Mal’s moods. 

The hand tightened, and Simon struggled with keeping his breathing level, showing his trust as much as possible with his compliance. He’d yet to be disappointed. 

Mal released his ear with a teasing graze, murmuring his approval as his other hand made short work of the buttons on Simon’s sleep shirt. He helped, slipping it off his shoulders and the captain pulled it from between them and tossed over a chair, his hand immediately returning to Simon’s navel. His hands were not quite shaking yet, but Simon could feel it buzzing just below the surface as the flat of his palm slipped below the waistband of his pants and brushed small circles from one hip to the other. 

He tried to look down, but the grip at his throat refused, holding his chin up so all that he could see was the brocade wallpaper and the bed, just a few feet away. He wanted the bed. Wanted the captain beneath him, on top of him, anywhere that involved more skin contact, really. It occurred to him that Mal might be waiting for permission of some kind, so he lowered his hand and slipped his thumbs into the elastic of of his pants and edged them down. The hand petting his stomach followed, until the fingers grazed the base of his shaft and Simon looked despite himself, watching as they changed direction and drifted down his length. 

He curled over that touch, gasping, until that hand pulled him upright again and stole his attention. “Take them off.” 

Mal pulled him out of the fabric, coaxing him along with slow strokes. The fabric pooled at his ankles and he kicked them away. “Put your hands in my hair.”

Now, there, was the shake. Simon insisted that his fingers only twitched because he wanted to touch, and he reached up and buried them in the captain’s thick brown hair. He felt exposed, trying to will himself to relax, but he was hard long before Mal decided he was done with this teasing. Every brush of his fingers had Simon’s hips edging forward, seeking out the contact. He made the mistake of pulling slightly away, and Mal used that grip to correct him, pulling him back until they were flush again. He realized that Mal was getting there, pressing against the curve of his ass. 

The metal belt buckle resting just at the small of his back was making it difficult to concentrate. He petted, gripped, ran his fingers through the captain’s hair to ground himself, but at some point, that devolved to a fist and Mal’s forehead came to rest on his shoulder with a musing sound. 

Base to tip, base to tip, and back, and  _ fuck _ , the swipe of his thumb had Simon chewing on words. He could hear himself breathing, too steady to be a pant, but deeper, more measured. This how people went mad. He was sure of it. He was inching closer, lower belly tight with pleasure, knees locked, and he let his head fall back to Mal’s shoulder, he was  _ not  _ whining--”Mal, please.”

“Mhm.” 

Mal’s hand migrated to the back of his neck, walking him forward to the edge of the bed. Simon leaned as though to crawl on it, and the fingers dug in, refusing to let him. Instead, the captain sat, guiding him back and knocking his knees apart without preamble. When they settled, Simon was straddling Mal’s lap, resting his weight on the bulge of his cock beneath his trousers. The belt buckle dug in as he gripped Simon by the hips and dragged him over it slowly, a sigh that was practically a growl washing over his shoulder blades. His hands roamed, up his sides, over his chest, the sharp edge of his teeth settling in to the left of his spine, raking faint marks in the pale skin. Simon twitched pressing back against him in equal measure desperation and impatience. 

There was not enough skin. He didn’t trust himself to make the argument coherently, but Mal sitting beneath and behind him, fully dressed while he was...bared, like this, was intense. It felt like a skew in power, and he turned his head, trying find the words to ask for level footing. 

No. Absolutely not. He got his answer as those heavy hands slipped between his thighs and pushed them wider, one slipping up to fondle the delicate skin of his sac with rolling fingers. Simon cursed, running from the touch until he hit the solid wall of his chest again, just...fuck, there was nowhere to  _ go _ . “ _ Mal… _ ”

“I’ll give you this.” The captain muttered against his shoulder, and Simon writhed when the other hand wrapped around his cock again, resuming its leisurely pace. “And when you’re done, if you’re good, I’ll take mine.” 

Good? What did good entail? Simon blanked, losing his breath as the curl of his fingers tightened slightly to provide real friction on the upstroke. “I don’t...Mal, what does good…”

Look like, sound like, god, he was flying blind here, and genuinely blind when a calloused thumb swept a bead of precome over the tip of his cock and massaged it in with small circles.  _ Now _ , he was panting, decidedly,  flushing pink down his throat and chest. He heard Mal chuckle, maintaining that touch. “Get the lube. Then put your hands in my hair and tell me how to touch you.” 

Oh. That was...yes, he could do that. He  _ thought  _ he could do that, at least, but that hand was making it infinitely harder to think. Simon leaned, expecting the hand to fall away, but it didn’t, and he heard Mal hiss at the change in pressure on his groin. It took him three tries to get the drawer open at all, and he fumbled the bottle when the other hand closed, applying pressure on the swell of his balls. “Oh, god, just...just hang on, I can’t…” 

“You’ll manage. Hurry up.” 

Something how turned over low in his stomach at the tone, he wasn’t even sure when he decided he’d like this, but the hint of Mal’s own impatience helped steady him. He could do this, he could make this man lose his mind, he’d proven as much. He tore the bottle open with his teeth when his fingers couldn’t manage, almost ripping the flip top from its hinge. The sight of darker skin against his flushed cock was almost overwhelming, but he poured, his usual grace shot to hell and back as the glide of those fingers smoothed out. He heard Mal groan behind him as he fought to close the bottle and then leaned back, keening high in his throat when the captain sped up. “ _ Yes _ , please…”

A little more, he thought, pressing his knees against the outside of the ones holding his open, desperate for pressure. “Mal, harder.”

God, but he did. Simon’s hands wound back into his thick hair, sinking down enough to let Mal rest his chin on the doctor’s shoulder, hips rolling as the pace quickened, and he was just  _ holding on _ , at this point. 

“Keep talking, Simon.” 

“S’perfect, please…” It took effort, to capture those broken sounds and reorder them into something that resembled language, it was stalling the inevitable-- “Please, please like that…”

“ _ Good _ .” That one word thrummed like a bowstring, a hot sweep all the way from his toes to his cheeks, Simon flushed again, writhing when Mal nipped him in approval. “Gonna get loud for me?”

“...y-yes, just...”

“I’ll take you over the bed this time.” Mal muttered against his ear, and Simon’s hands tightened into fists at the mental image. The captain didn’t seem to mind, bucking against the weight in his lap, fully hard, Simon could feel the heat of him through the fabric. “Go on, Simon.”

  
“Close, close--” And he was, he felt it coiling low in his stomach, toes curling where they didn’t quite reach the floor, every instinct to curl in around his pleasure denied by the position. “Please, don’t stop, Mal, don’t stop, I’m so--”

“There you go. Fucking pretty like this, laid out for me.” The slick sound of his fist was somehow less obscene than the tone of his voice, right in his ear, and Simon was running, practically climbing up the man’s lap for a reprieve that wasn’t coming. “Go on and spill for me, Simon, so I can fuck you.” 

“God,  _ Mal… _ ” That was broken, he was broken, chanting the name like it was the only word he knew as he tensed. Where his hips stuttered, Mal’s fist did not, pushing him over the crest mercilessly until both hands tightened just, so, and Simon was  _ done _ . His exhale was a cry in itself, scattered and riding the pulse he felt hot on his stomach, spilling over Mal’s fingers.

It was practically feral, the weight of the word in the following silence. “ _ Good _ .”

Simon shivered from one end to the other, shying from the heat of his mouth as he tried to feel out his extremities again, but there was no help for him. He was boneless, the buttons of the captain’s shirt a protesting line alongside his spine, the corner of the belt buckle digging in uncomfortably. 

He was perhaps fifteen percent online again when Mal released his cock and lifted his hand, licking the spend from his knuckles with a broad swipe of his tongue that promptly shorted Simon out again. There wasn’t enough air in the room. The gravity was off. There was nothing but the firm arm slipping around his waist and supporting his weight as Mal turned and dropped him unceremoniously on the blanket. 

He felt those hands on his hips again, the fingers still slick as they pulled him back, his feet again spread by heavy boots. Waking up, waking, he was getting there, and the hiss of leather through belt loops helped center him. Simon tried sit up, to look back because he wanted skin, wanted to worship those scars for a while, but Mal was not having the slow and easy tonight. 

The leather threaded across his back and around each elbow before he could register it was happening, and then pulled tight. Simon was flexible enough that his elbows could touch if he needed them to, but Mal left enough of a gap for it to fit his fist between and tested it, pulling him halfway up and then dropping him again when he was satisfied. 

The sound of clothing behind him was thrilling, the hot press of Mal’s cock just at the curve of his ass a wake-up call. “I...Mal, I can’t move like this.”

“Intentional.” 

So, he’d meant literally taking. Fuck. Simon felt excitement and confusion warring in his chest, he’d never had someone content to just...run him, like this, put him through his paces and revel in the process. He heard the bottle cap and seconds later, a blunt finger was circling his entrance and pressing in. Simon hissed, testing his bonds, but a soothing hand slid up his spine. He concentrated on breathing until the burn subsided and the second finger, the third, god, he was so glad they’d spent time on this before because he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to do this without prep, it was so...invasive…

And  _ perfect _ , when he cocked his wrist just, so, and brushed his prostate. He heard the ragged sound behind his clenched teeth and felt Mal tense behind him. Again.  _ Again _ , and that time he did cry out, pressing back into the touch to prolong the contact. “There, fuck, there, please…”

Mal huffed a dark laugh, trailing his nails lightly down Simon’s back as he withdrew. The blunt press of his cock instead brought Simon upright through sheer strength, though Mal’s hand in the belt forced him back to an appropriate angle without hesitation. 

There was no incremental adjustment this time, he felt the captain’s hips rocking slowly, each pass deeper as he fucked him open instead. It was heady, it was terribly unfair, it was fucking perfect, and Simon was holding the belt taught across his own back, just glad to have something to struggle against. His feet slipped further apart of his own accord as the rhythm settled, not quick, but not gentle. 

He hung there, eyes unfocused with the sensation of being full, pants edging into cries as Mal found his stroke. “God, that’s good, Simon.”

Simon was on his toes, coherency shot to hell again, because this position was rough, the pace was rough, and he was shocked by how much he enjoyed it. Mal hadn’t even undressed, his clothes were just shoved out of the way, cold buttons brushing against Simon’s thigh with every stroke, and the grip on the belt guided him down. His chest resting against the blanket was less intense, though he still found himself writhing, torn between words and something just shy of a  _ shriek  _ when Mal adjust his angle and-- “Fuck, therethere _ there _ , Mal--”

The answering growl shot straight through his blood to his cock, half hard again already and he really didn’t know who to blame for that. He wanted this, wanted it badly, told the captain every time he had enough air to do so and Mal’s self control was beautiful and  _ terrifying _ , holding him perfectly still except for the tremor of impact. He heard the captain, his tone slipping from bemused to dark and heavy as he worked, “Louder, Simon, come on.” 

“God, please, just like that.” He could do louder, wasn’t sure he had much of a choice at this point, burning words spilling past his lips without thought. He felt himself arching, the belt digging into his biceps as he struggled to get closer, to throw himself back, but Mal had him trapped close to the mattress. Simon shouldn’t be this close, this fast, not so soon after the first orgasm, but it was building without permission, driven on by the snap of the captain’s hips. “Please, again, please let me--”

“Go again. Come.” Mal ordered, and Simon whined, biting at the blanket. He would not be denied, however, and his teeth clicked when Mal hauled him up by the belt and suspended him. Simon hung there, hair falling in his face, jaw locked as Mal’s other hand came to brace his hip. “ _ Now _ , Simon.”

Order, blessing, curse, it didn’t matter at all, his knees locked, and four, five, six strokes later, he seized. White hot and bright, he wasn’t aware he was screaming until the echo came back from the corners of the room, and by then it was too late. Mal let him fall, crowding him into the blankets as both hands tightened to bruise his hips. The captain’s stroke didn’t falter, he simply buried himself to the hilt and shook apart with a sharp cry. 

His arms were not quite numb when the belt came apart a few moments later, the captain’s hands briskly rubbing at the marks he’d left. That Simon had left. That both had...fuck, he couldn’t clarify the statement to himself, simply pulling his arms to his chest with a groan. Mal kicked his boots off and shed the rest of his clothing into a heap, crawling over Simon and pressing him onto his back for a slow kiss. Simon felt himself relax, basking in the attention. He blinked, lips humming when they pulled apart and Mal brushed the hair from his eyes. “Still with me?”

  
“Yeah…” Simon felt his mouth moving, a smile. “I’m great. S’was great.”

Mal grinned, settling back into his pillows with a sigh. Simon turned into his chest, flexing his fingers as he sorted them out in the aftermath. He licked the edge of his teeth, starting hesitantly, “You know...they make cuffs for that.”

Mal glanced down at him.

“Instead of belts.” Simon flushed, remembering seeing a pair in the companion’s tent the night they went out. “If you...you know, intend on...this, more often.”

“I told you, doc, I already own everything I plan to use on you.” 

Simon chuckled, looking up to meet his eyes. “Do we need a safeword?”

“...I don’t know, yet. Let’s figure it out in the morning.” 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone, but I've recently started a new job! Yay me! I think I'll be moving to Monday night updates. I'll be writing Sunday night and doing my read-through on my lunch break the next day.

A gunshot woke them in the predawn gloom, the solid, clean crack of a rifle echoing through the valley and rolling away over the fields. Mal started violently behind him, and Simon instinctively reached behind to put a hand on his hip. The door was still closed, locked, and only shadows presented themselves behind the furniture. Mal seemed to realize this in the same moment he did, sighing as he relaxed and brought a hand to cover Simon’s. The doctor rolled over and threaded his arm across the older man’s chest, relishing the few nicks of scar tissue along the way. 

Mal seemed invincible to him, until he wasn’t. Even with his eyes closed, Simon could recall the warm slick of his blood under the surgical gloves, the heady scent of his skin coated in a thin layer of gunpowder and sweat. His heart raced under the flat of Simon’s palm and it was enough to bring the doctor the rest of the way to conscious thought, picking his head up slightly to look at the captain. Mal rested his head on the pillow, eyes closed despite being obviously awake. 

Simon frowned, searching his neutral expression for some sign of his mood. He couldn’t imagine how bad the trenches had to be in order to still wake him from a dead sleep ten years later. It didn’t sit right with Simon at all that they were sharing a bed and for a handful of seconds, Mal was very much somewhere else, somewhere dark and dangerous. As though sensing his concern, Mal’s hand drifted up to cover his over the steady thud in his rib cage, and his voice was still thick with sleep, “I’m alright.” 

“Mhm.” Simon nodded, chewing on his instinct to comfort. He rubbed small circles over the captain’s chest and then slotted himself to the older man’s side, shoving his arm out of the way. He could hear his heart slowing, and remained quiet as it staged down to something normal. He yawned, muttering, “I hope that was dinner.” 

“Third shot since he left, he better have hit something.” Mal’s amusement was warm in the grey light. He stretched, and Simon winced to hear the snap of his shoulders and knees popping stiffly with the gesture. 

“That’s bad for you.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

“I thought you and Zoe did stretches in the morning?” 

“Stretch...No, doc.” Mal chuckled, turning his nose into the thick curl of his hair. “We do drills. Laps, calisthenics, weapon checks. More like hard cardio than a stretch session.” 

“Every morning?” 

“Mhm.”

“...Gross.” Simon smirked in triumph when that earned him a deep laugh. “I’ll stick to sneaking in sets on the weight bench when Jayne is asleep.” 

“He’d spot you, you know.” Mal’s hand curled warmly around his shoulder. “Might give you grief the first couple of times, but he’s actually a pretty decent coach when he’s not talking.”

“Am I too skinny for you, captain?” Simon sassed, pulling back to check his own lean stomach. “I thought the stress diet was working for me.” 

“Simon, you’re just now approaching what I would call a healthy weight.” Mal answered seriously, sitting up just enough to tip him back so his shoulders were flat and the captain pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You and mei-mei both looked like it’d been months between you and three-square a day when you came aboard.” 

“That sounds about right, actually.” Simon’s lips curled in a wry smile. “Remember when I tried to pay extra for meals? And they were--”

“Included in the boarding price, yeah.” Mal’s hand skimmed slowly over his chest and stomach, tracing the faint dips of muscle when he flexed. He made an appreciative sound, pulling the blanket away to repeat the gesture despite Simon’s hiss at the cold. “I know people who pay money to look like this. Have you always been this lean?”

“Well, a year in the black on low-fat protein rations has sharpened the lines a little bit. I’m not complaining.” Simon’s eyes strayed to the ceiling as he thought about it, basking in the slow drag of Mal’s hand. “I don’t...no, I was never a pudgy kid. I put on some weight right before puberty, but it redistributed pretty well when I grew a foot taller that summer. What about you?” 

Mal shook his head, brushing his thumb over the fading trace of a bite mark on his hip. “No, I never could sit still long enough to keep any weight. I was born heavy, and started working the ranch at eight. Even after the war, when I made a point to have beer with every meal and...you know, instead of, some meals, I never got soft.” 

Simon nodded, trying to figure out the next question that would keep Mal talking about himself. This was a game he often lost, trying to find the next solid foothold to keep building his private picture of Mal’s past. “River has always been wires on a spring. She danced for a long time, I used to keep a picture of her ensemble in my wallet. She can still probably go  _ en pointe _ , if she wanted.”

“That’s the...up on toes, thing?” 

“Mhm.” Simon nodded, threading his fingers through the captain’s dense hair. “It’s bizarre to watch when she’s not wearing the shoes. I can still hear her instructor, tapping her cane, ‘Present the feet! Present the feet!’.”

Mal chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s...odd.”

“It’s just a...phrase, I guess. Reminds them how to hold position when their foot isn’t on the floor.” 

“I had her pegged as a gymnast.” 

“No, she just likes climbing things.” Simon deadpanned, brushing a hand over his face. Mal pressed his thumb to a dark mark left by his teeth and tongue and Simon winced, batting his hand away. 

“The marks don’t bother you?” 

Simon bit his lip, considering the question, because it was asked too earnestly to be ignored. He could learn more about Mal later. He was learning to recognize this tactic, subtle as it was, how he turned the conversation back to the present whenever he felt himself drifting to the past. They had time, however. They had tomorrow, and the day after, and there would be time to ask. Time to make him feel like he didn’t have to recenter immediately. Simon shook his head, tracing the outline with his own fingers. “No. I mean, you’re the first person to ever take an interest in leaving marks, so I’m kind of figuring it out as we go.” 

Mal nodded, still grazing it with the edge of his thumb. His tone was matter of fact, as though he and Simon were taking inventory again. “And my nails?”

“Are...lovely, to be honest.” Simon chuckled at himself, hiding his blush in the top of Mal’s hair. As an afterthought, he pulled his hand away from the nape of the captain’s neck to drift down and drag his own nails over the line of his shoulder lightly. “And mine?”

“Are asking for trouble.” Mal shivered, made no move to hide it. Simon grinned, and the captain lowered his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to his collar. The slick of his tongue and the edge of his teeth made Simon sigh, repeating the motion from a little further down, with a little more pressure. 

Mal rolled his shoulder to shake him off, pulling back to meet his eyes, “That’s a quick way to start something, doc.”

He was so sure of himself. There was not a trace of insecurity or hesitation in his face, and Simon marvelled at the intensity of his focus. That part was so new to him, having had little to no experience with someone who knew exactly what they wanted from him. It was clean, and simple, and  _ want  _ rung through his ears like a heavy bell, his own expression thoughtful. He still had so much to learn about this man. “You like it when I let you.”

Mal cocked his head, and Simon elaborated, continuing, “When I relax and let you lead things. I’ve noticed.” 

“I like the way you trust me.” Mal nodded, returning to his leisurely kisses and petting.

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.” Simon shifted under his ministrations, stroking the back of his neck. “I’ve never had a partner that could hurt me. Or at least, not someone I was with long enough to find out.” 

“I’ve been told I’m aggressive.” 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Simon argued gently, trying to find ways to say the words passionate, and carnal, without being accused of waxing poetic. Then again, Mal studied literature, perhaps he’d appreciate that. “I’ve never had someone so intuitive with me. I think...carnal, is a better word.”

He braced himself for laughter, but it didn’t come. Instead, Mal nodded. Emboldened, Simon pushed on, “And I live for it, if I’m honest. I feel wanted. I’ve...well, I’ve been accused of spending too much time in my own head.” 

“You are wanted.” Mal offered lowly, and pushed himself up to settle his weight squarely down the length of Simon’s body, his hips resting between the doctor’s legs in a way that made his heart race. Simon let his hands fall, instinctively running his fingers into the older man’s hair. “And you practically live in your own head, for the record.”

“You had to tell me point blank you were interested. I’m aware.” Simon answered with a rueful grin. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“I thought you...well, you surprised me, that night in the infirmary.” Mal’s lips ghosted over his heartbeat, his words rumbling against Simon’s skin. “I thought maybe you knew then, and you were testing me.”

“Mal, I don’t have the wherewithal to test anyone.” 

“That’s part of why I like you.” Mal breathed a chuckle, closing his mouth over the darker skin of his nipple in a teasing graze. “I realized afterwards that you really thought I was willing to just hit you on request.”

“It was what I needed at the time.” Simon managed, refusing to shy from his touch. 

“Hell of a wake-up call. I couldn’t figure you out until that moment.” He was shifting to the other side now, favoring it with a flat swipe of his tongue. “Watching you work, you’d seem like nothing in the ‘verse could shake you, but the second Kaylee crooked her finger, you’d shut down on her.” 

“Kaylee had a bad habit of crooking her finger and hoping I’d do the rest.” Simon mused, tracing his thumbs over the captain’s ears, pleased with the way he arched into the touch. “In another life, I might have.” 

“She wasn’t what you needed at the time.” Mal supplied, and Simon kept waiting to hear jealousy creep into his tone but it never did. “I think what you needed was permission.” 

“Someone to tell me I was allowed to enjoy myself?”

“Enjoy someone else, specifically.” Mal bit down on his nipple hard enough to make Simon twitch, his cock swelling against the flat plane of the captain’s stomach. “And it thrills me how much you agree with me when I push the issue.” 

Simon huffed a breathless laugh, shifting underneath him to press harder against his stomach in a selfish bid for friction. “I have to admit, you make it easy. Usually, I’m the one left to progress things, and it’s refreshing how...I just...don’t. With you. I can just be. You’ll tell me what you want and--”

He trailed off as Mal set his teeth to curve of his of ribs in a skating bite, nuzzling lower. The captain glanced up, his forearms braced on either side of Simon’s stomach. “Go on.” 

Simon stared, taking in the swell of his lips, the wet shine of his tongue as he let it touch pale skin before the heat of his mouth followed, sampling. He blinked, knowing the desire sitting in his eyes would explain itself. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“What else have you learned?” Mal was still talking lowly against his skin, peppering soft kisses along the flat of his stomach towards his hips. “I like to wake up slow, so I may be here a while.” 

“I…” Simon paused, breath hissing between his teeth, mind racing and periodically going blank the further Mal progressed. He was hard now, the chill of the room forgotten as he shoved another pillow behind his head and struggled to breath evenly. “Have realized how much you like it when I’m...vocal.” 

There was an amused rumble of assent between his thighs, and he smirked. “Which is also new to me, I confess. I was encouraging with others, tender but insistent. I took pride in the fact that I never got overwhelmed.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” 

Simon arched an eyebrow, raking his fingers through Mal’s hair to bring him and meet his eyes. “You do it. You have to understand the appeal of having someone coming apart at the seams when you’ve barely lost your breath. Like last night, when I was naked in your lap? You were still fully clothed.” 

His tone had dropped somewhere in the middle of the speech, not accusatory, but burning. The effect on Mal was immensely gratifying, the way his eyes darkened. Simon was getting used to his staring, but the hunger in it made him shiver.  He continued petting, lifting his chin a bit in challenge. “And I don’t recall you complaining when I took you in my mouth either.”

Mal’s grip tightened. 

“I enjoyed that.” Simon shifted, pressing the line of his cock against Mal’s collarbone. “But you, you don’t break under pressure. Even at the end, by the time you were fucking my mouth--”

The doctor abruptly lost his breath as Mal pulled back far enough to breathe hotly up length of his cock, the tip grazing his cheek. He shifted further up the pillows, but Mal’s weight over his thighs trapped him there, and the first touch of his tongue to the head had Simon muttering a curse as his head tipped back. He took a minute, trying to regain his thoughts. 

“When you come apart, you don’t surrender to it, you...chase it. Like you’ve given yourself permission to have whatever you want, and you  _ know  _ that I’ll let you.”

He glanced down in time to see Mal’s eyes close as he settled over the head, his tongue claiming the slick of precome without hesitation. “Fuck.”

“Hm.” Mal hummed, and the vibration had Simon curling forward again in surprise, struggling with the words spilling over his lips because he suddenly could think, couldn’t hear them. 

“I’ll let you. Mal, I’d let you do anything if...oh, god, if--” That curl of his tongue around the fine ridge of the glans was too much, his hips canted up to be deeper, and he met no resistance. Mal’s hands returned to his hips as he sank lower, taking more of him in. “If you want it from me, I’ll let you. God, as long as you like, I love how you...how you--”

The first gentle pull of suction was so sweet he could cry. The words did not die, only the coherency, as Mal swallowed around him and pulled back with a silken drag of skin that set Simon’s nerves on fire. Whatever edge he’d had in the beginning, whatever scrap of control he felt teasing Mal with his obscenity, it died, and it died audibly with the soft sound the withdrawal pulled from his chest. He let it. He felt Mal groan his approval when the first ‘please’ slipped between his teeth.

His hands both found purchase in the older man’s hair, a deep flush warming his throat and chest, high in his cheeks as he struggled to keep his eyes open. The return was slow, and savage, the barest graze of teeth a threat and the soft heat of his tongue an apology seconds after. 

Lizard brain was surprised by the gentility of it, the way one of Mal’s hands pulled his own away to thread fingers as he settled into the motion. He seemed to relish the sharp uptick Simon’s heart with every pass of his tongue over the sensitive tip, and made a point to do so every strokes. The heat in his stomach twisted, his knees aching to bend, though whether to be closer or just for leverage to fuck into the heat of his mouth, Simon couldn’t answer honestly. It was leisurely, debauched and completely overwhelming.

He did try to run, towards the end, but Mal simply tucked his elbow tight over Simon’s thigh and refused to let him. He did not speed up, the climb resolute and paced. He felt more than heard the captain’s encouragement as his fingers tightened in anticipation to a white-knuckled grip on Mal’s hand. The other left his hair in favor of safer ground, twisting in the sheets because he didn’t trust himself not to pull when--

God, when-- “Mal, please, please don’t stop, I’m so…”

It was reverent, until it wasn’t, it was gentle, until his hips decided that closer was better, and Mal took him without complaint, all the way to the base of his shaft and  _ pulled _ . 

He fractured like glass, fine lines coming together and separating between one breath and the next, and he came with his knees locked and a high, wanton keen in his throat as Mal swallowed him down.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lied, have another chapter.
> 
> Guys, I need a new summary. Anyone care to take a stab at it? This a good point to rewrite it, this has become much more than an indulgence fic, god help me.

 

The door rattled in its frame as it swung wide to allow a tangle of bodies to stumble against his work table. Simon made desperate grabs to keep the vials of metal solution from hitting the floor. He’d been in the process of dosing the day’s blood samples to complete the illusion of widespread poisoning.

Instead, fingers spread in claws to pin bottles down, he found himself staring into pair of rich brown eyes that very clearly did not see him. The hair on his arms raised until he realized the man was breathing, if unevenly. Above him, Curly, the redhead stablemaster, had his arm twisted up between his shoulder, breathing heavily. Curly’s eye was already swelling shut, a jagged scratch twisting back into his hairline as though someone had attempted to gouge it out. Simon only knew that wound because River had inflicted it on him within a few days of freedom from the Alliance. 

“Please, doc, put him down, I can’t hold him forever.” 

That jarred him from his spot, clutching the vials awkwardly to wrangle them into a tray before darting over to his bag. “What’s going on?”   


“I don’t know, he just..lost his gorram mind, one second to the next.” Curly uttered through grit teeth, and Simon grabbed the first sedative that came to his hands, turning back with a full syringe. 

“You, get his other arm out for me.” 

The other stablehand released his hold on the patient enough to pry the arm away from his chest, and the man exhaled sharply with a low, broken sound that made Simon’s stomach roll. He swallowed it down, shaking thoughts of River away even as his heart gave that twitch he was so accustomed to. It was hard to find the vein as the patient began to struggle in earnest, his face still oddly blank despite the tears rolling from one eye into the next and on to pool on the tabletop. He struck true and set the needle aside, holding pressure on the wound with his thumb and counting seconds. 

It was a gradual release of tension. The dark eyes blew wide, pupils dilated as his heart began to slow, and Simon waited another full minute before nodding to release him. He slumped against the table, more or less upright, but sluggish. Manageable. This is the part where he usually put her bed. 

He shook that away too. 

Checking his pulse, he kept the other two men long enough to help him work the man’s body up onto the table flat on his back. He groaned, but remained limp, a hand lifted and fell again with a clatter of bracelet and coins to the wood. 

Not coins. Dog tags.

Instinctively, Simon pulled a panel of the young soldier’s shirt over his indenture bracelet and the telltale medallions, hiding them from view of the others. “Thank you, Curly. Here, take this antiseptic and clean your face up, get some ice on that eye.”

“Want to stick around? He took a swing at me ‘fore he even saw me.” Curly sounded annoyed, but it was half-hearted at best, 

Simon shook his head, and on second thought, handed him a second packet of cream. “Take care of your shoulder too. Send Captain Reynolds over, tell him there’s no hurry. It’ll be an hour at least before he wakes up, and the Captain can handle him if needed.” 

“Alright then. Thanks, doc.” Curly waved the other man out and pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Simon in silence as quickly as it had been stolen. 

He released a shaky breath, leaning on the edge of the table with a gloved hand on the soldier’s chest. It seemed unreal. Two weeks into the second trip, he’d had no luck going his usual route. It turned out that most of his clientele were the older indentures, with a handful of sickly children and work-related injuries. He hadn’t had many of the age to be in military service. After steeling his nerves, he moved the shirt to inspect one of the small, octagonal coins. 

Shun Shi Lang

LT03-84240-01

Bhudd B: A

It was him. Finally, after weeks of looking at a picture, he had a name to put to the face of his retirement plan. His breathing had evened out, eyes drifting closed, and he took in the dark shadows under his eyes, the way his clothes fit a size too large from lost weight. Not that the man was small, by was any means. He had broad shoulders and dark hair, one of the old bloodlines from Earth that was written across his lax features. Shi Lang, son of Yi Lang, a son conscripted to follow his Admiral father. He wondered what that would have been like, if his father had decided to push him into law or the military instead of his current practice.

Well, he’d have probably known his true colors sooner, he thought bitterly. Then he shook that aside too, it wasn’t fair. Whatever selfish decision his father had made had come later, when he was convinced that Simon was on a path of no return. He wished it hadn’t been that easy to choose. 

Simon pressed a cotton swab and bandage over the needle mark in his forearm before he stripped his gloves off, lingering at his side as his mind raced. Half an hour later, he was pulled from his thoughts by the flutter of eyelashes and a groggy turn of the head. Mal still hadn’t arrived.

He rested his hand on the young man’s wrist gently, suddenly torn on which name to use...the one on the tags or the false name he’d given on his paperwork. 

The soldier spoke up before he made up his mind. “I know you.” 

Simon smiled warmly, shaking his head. “I’m sure you don’t. How are you feeling?”

“Like...Fentanyl.” 

“And Pentobarbital, to be fair.” Simon grinned, slipping into big brother mode without meaning to. “You’re familiar with these medications?”

“Mhm.” The soldier lifted his head, and thought better of it, eyes rolling slightly with dizziness as he laid back down. “Old friends.” 

“Are you on any other medications or drugs I should know about?” Simon asked, remembering this wasn’t his sister and he couldn’t be sure. “I just want to avoid interactions, I don’t care one way or the other.” 

“I’m...coming off some...ah…” He frowned at the ceiling. “Things I need. No script, anymore, ran out last week.”

“Okay. Something you took regularly, then? Anything heart related?” Shi shook his head and Simon rattled off a few more before he got to sedatives and antidepressants. “That...antipsychotics. Cloza--”

“Clozapine. Okay.” Simon lifted his head, reviewing his current inventory. He had it, back on Serenity, but he’d have to call in a favor to get it here. Or get Shi on Serenity, whichever came first. The young man tensed beside him and he found himself patting his wrist reassuringly, still not budging from his place at his side. His bedside manner was impeccable. He’d been told. “I can get some, but I have a few things here that will help with the withdrawal symptoms until we get you back on track.”

“As long as you don’t stick needles in my eyes.” 

Simon’s attention snapped back to his face, a prickling sense of unease flaring at the base of his skull. Lizard brain took a full step back, dragging his empathy with it as he assessed the soldier again. Shi chuckled, eyes still closed. “Sorry. Morbid sense of humor. Military thing.”

“You’re exmilitary?” Simon asked, feigning interest, as though he hadn’t already memorized the man’s name, rank and blood type. 

“You’re a bad liar. I know.”

“How do you know?”

Shi turned to look at him for the first time, a soft, but tired smile on his face. “I know you, like a book I read over someone’s shoulder once.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. Shi brought a hand up faintly to his face, seemed to be thinking. Perhaps trying to remember. Simon didn’t speak for a long moment, his eyes darting to the rest of the sedatives on the counter. 

“You’ll get to that. It’s fine. I just...look, just don’t panic on me.” Shi chose his words carefully, speaking through the medication. After a moment, his fingers brushed over his forehead, pushing his hair back, and pointed at a tiny divot of a scar in the very center. 

Simon nodded that he saw it, and the soldier shook his sleeve further down his arm, holding it up for inspection. Banded around the outside of his wrist was smooth, white skin, a chafing scar that glued Simon’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. He knew then, he knew before the soldier turned his head away and pushed his hair up just behind his ear to reveal a clean, white incision, healed over, but clearly opened several times. His blood ran cold. 

Shi favored him with that small grin again, something hollow in his eyes. “Don’t...it’s okay. I’m just...m’just gonna say that River and I went to school together.”

River and I went to school together. River and I went to school together. It was stuck on loop, a cold wash of fear finally bleeding down his spine as his mind went very forcibly blank to process it. When it finally came back online, it took several seconds to sort through the static, scraps of thought jarring each other for his attention. He could kill him. He probably should. It’d be cleanest, slit his throat, overdose him, call it an accident. He couldn’t kill him. Why was he allowed to leave? Was he allowed to leave, or did he break himself free? Was he a willing participant?

He knew what had happened to River. In detail.

Rage followed that specific, glimmering realization and swallowed him whole. His empathy fizzled even in light of the scarring that indicated no, he hadn’t willingly gone to those tables, laid down for those saws. What sane man would? What sane man would stand by and watch a twelve year old girl subjected to the same? The short answer was the one in front of him, and he couldn’t dissuade the rage from believing it. Slightly more than a year riding adrenaline and panic with faceless, nameless entities to blame, and here the universe stepped in and gave it brown eyes. 

His grip on the man’s wrist was bruising. Shi turned his eyes back to the ceiling, not quite flinching under the cold blue stare Simon levelled on him as he considered slitting his throat. Quick and dirty, he knew exactly where to put the scalpel. 

Simon closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. A meltdown wouldn’t help anyone. A murder wouldn’t get him home to River. A murder would complicate things. 

But an  _ accident… _

“Fuck.” Simon swore, throwing himself away from the table and then back in the opposite direction, backing away from his tool kit. He could give him a lethal dose of the metal solution, and that’d be poetic, watch him die convulsing as his liver failed and his fingernails bled.

He shook his head. 

He regained himself. Took another steadying breath. Shi brought his forearm up to rub the marks Simon had left with a bland expression. After a moment, he wet his lips, voice a bit quieter under the drumming of Simon’s heart. “You know, I wish my dad had looked at me the way you just did, when I told him.” 

Simon’s tone was cold, he humored him, “What did he do?”

“He was disappointed that I’d escaped.” He said it as though he were relaying the weather. The roar in the doctor’s head quieted, wariness creeping in at the edges again, and the swing of it left him exhausted. 

“Mine was angry that I’d saved her.” 

“You were supposed to be the best.” Shi grinned, and he could hear a dull echo of River saying as much, perhaps early on, before the situation turned. “She told everyone who would listen.” 

She would have. Simon leaned on the counter, drumming his fingers dully on the wood. Where was Mal? 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He started lowly, his voice rough. “I’m going to put you back to sleep, for longer this time. I won’t kill you. I won’t let anyone else kill you. I’ll tell them I have to keep you under observation and have you moved somewhere closer to me. There’s work I have to do...plans to be made. When I let you wake up, we’re going to talk about this at length, and I will make a decision regarding...what happens next. Are you amenable?”

Shi shrugged, twisting slightly to look at him. “I don’t have to wake up. In fact, I’m...kind of tired of waking up.” 

Simon scowled. Shi didn’t have the decency to retract his offer, instead muttering, “It’d be a kindness, I think you know.”


	40. Chapter 40

 

Simon checked, checked, triple checked the dosage he was giving the man before gave himself permission to find the vein. His chest seemed to be rattling apart, but his hands were steady. Shi Lang hardly winced as the skin broke, and after a few moments, his eyes drifted closed again, features going slack. Simon returned to his place at the counter and watched the rise and fall of his chest with a knot of worry between his brows. 

To say this complicated things would be an understatement. His eyes were drawn again to the scar on the man’s forehead, his fingers twitching with memory of watching the metal slide out of River’s, the faint catch as it cleared the hole they’d drilled in her skull. He remembered the chill of her skin when Mal woke her from cryo stasis, the acrid smell of bile when her empty stomach tried to turn itself inside out. The various knicks, scrapes bruises they exchanged over the months following, trying to relearn communication. 

It was at odds with the coherency Shi Lang had offered him, but he found himself daring to hope that River might one day be capable of giving context to her thoughts again. He thought of the soldier’s last request, and his stomach soured. He hoped she had more to look forward to than that. 

A knock at the door pulled his mind back to the present, and Mal pushed it open with a small frown, taking in Simon first. 

“I wasn’t at hand when you called, I’m sorry.” He glanced at the patient, then did a double-take, easing the door closed behind himself. “That’s…”

“Him. Yeah.” Simon sighed. “Mal, I think we’re in trouble.” 

“‘Kinda trouble?” 

“Alliance kind.” Simon offered succinctly, coming off the table. “Let’s...talk. Can you get the others? Meet me on the veranda?”

Mal nodded, but paused in the doorway. “He’s okay here?”

“He should be fine until morning. Kind of rude to let him sleep on the table, but...I’m not in a position to care, at the moment. It’s more important that we talk.” 

The captain’s look darkened, but he nodded. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Simon followed him out and paused at the sink long enough to scrub out. He hung his apron on the door handle and as an afterthought, locked the office. Small peace of mind that no one would enter, though he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be enough to keep Shi Lang in, if he wanted to be elsewhere. 

He made his way out into the afternoon sun, eyes fixed on the ground as people passed him with their tools, winding down after a day’s work. A man passed with a long range rifle over one shoulder, and Simon shivered despite himself. He took the access stairwell up to the veranda and entered his room from the outside, heading straight for the shower. He couldn’t scrub the anxiety away, no matter how hot or long the water ran. It painted his bones. 

When he emerged from the bathroom in a simple shirt and pants, they were waiting outside for him. Zoe and Mal conversed quietly at the railing while Jayne sprawled over one of the couches, inspecting the edge of a short blade Simon didn’t recognize. He cleared his throat, and the other two looked up. 

Simon claimed one end of of the closest couch, bracing his elbows on his knees. Mal sat next to him and Zoe folded into the chair, waiting with curious expressions. 

“He’s...a problem.” Simon started lowly, and Jayne quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, he knows who I am. I don’t think Badger had the whole story.”

“He knows you how?” Mal asked.

“Everything. He knows I’m Simon Tam, brother of River Tam, both fugitives of the state.” 

There was silence, heavy and loud after that. He wanted to fill it, but the weight of the words made dragging them to light difficult. “And I mean...personally, not from the bulletins. He met River. Knew her name. He doesn’t just know who I am, he knows  _ of  _ me...like she would talk.” 

Zoe pushed him, “How is that possible?”

“There were...others, like her. The program was new, but she wasn’t the only...it wasn’t just her.” Simon licked his lips, inhaling deeply to steady his nerves. “Which means, this isn’t just..personal, for the admiral. They’re coming. Probably as soon we confirm to Badger that he’s here, if not before.” 

“So…” Jayne sounded optimistic. “We just need to get paid before they...y’know, off Badger, and  _ get  _ here.” 

“It may already be too late for that.” Simon said, and the bubble burst in his head as soon as he heard it out loud. There was no hope of the job going according to plan. Once again, the work, the payment, everything, went up in smoke because of him. And River. He felt a sting behind his eyes and found that he couldn’t look up at them. He didn’t want to see their disappointment, he didn’t want to be responsible for it. Not again. “I’m sorry.” 

“It ain’t lost yet.” Mal’s hand fell heavy on his shoulder, and then migrated to his neck, pulling him upright. Simon tried to glance at him, but couldn’t lift his eyes past the buttons on his shirt. The touch was reassuring, at least. “That does raise a few flags, however.” 

“I should go.” Simon started, nodding. “River and I both, we should go. Camp out on Persephone somewhere until this...plays out.” 

“What else did he tell you?” Zoe asked, clicking her nails in quiet agitation. “Did he mention why he slipped off?”

“No. I put him under after…” Simon crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the snarl on his face before he could smooth it over. “I almost…He asked me to kill him, and I considered it. I know, rationally, he’s not to blame, but he’s the closest I’ve gotten to the ones that did it.” 

“Can’t get paid, if he’s dead.” Jayne quipped, and Zoe turned a sharp look in his direction. “M’just saying.”

“That’s not our move.” Mal pushed on, his hand still warm on Simon’s neck. His thumb played into the damp edge of his hair as they chewed on the problem for a few minutes longer. “I don’t want him on my ship with you and mei-mei. That’s a target I don’t think any of us can risk. Do you think he’d let our...current work continue?”

“I don’t know.” Simon said bluntly. “I admit, I panicked a little. The idea of him awake and talking still scares me. He could ruin us.”

“Let’s think it through, then.” Mal suggested gently. “I’m more than a little invested in both the plan and the payday. I still want to end this place. Alliance showing up sooner than expected would have been a problem, and I tend to think you’re right, that they’re coming whether or not we’re ready.” 

“It’s been three weeks.” Zoe mused,  her eyes unfocused on the table as she thought out loud. “They didn’t put a bulletin on him like they did you two. No reward, not a peep. And he’s got history of just up and disappearing, right? Book said three desertions without court martial?”   


“Four.” Mal supplied. Simon couldn’t think past the chorus of he knows, he knows, he  _ knows _ , and he hated himself for it, for letting this conversation happen without him. Mal’s grip tightened slightly, grounding him. The captain continued, “One thing at a time. Small things first.”

“We use him like any other drop.” Jayne started. “Send his pic, get paid, give pick-up coordinates. I can camp out somewhere with him.”

“We need to make it clear we can’t extract him.” Zoe nodded, glancing at Simon. “Might be wise to get Doc off the moon quickly, before we let on we’ve got the goods.” 

“Inara would take them.” Mal said bluntly. “Send her planet-side with some supplies.” 

Simon’s exhale rattled, too bitter to be a laugh. “...I hate this. You have to know how much I hate this.”

“Nobody’s too thrilled about it.” Jayne’s tone was blunt, bordering unkind. “But it ain’t my call.” 

“No.” Simon muttered drolly, “You’d have turned us in a long time ago.”

Jayne did sit up at that, his tone taking on an edge. “Woulda. Yeah. But you’re kinda integral to my retirement now, so I’d take it as a kindness if you’d suck it up.” 

“Jayne.”

  
“I don’t like him, Mal. Ain’t ever liked him, but you’d have died a few months back if he weren’t around. All woulda died a couple times over. I ain’t denying he’s useful, but he’s always been trouble.” Jayne ducked to catch Simon’s eyes. “I’m sayin’ I made my peace with it. Now get your head outta your ass and go to work.”

Simon stared, hated him again for cutting to the quick of the matter and leaving him strung out on the limb where he’d perched. The irritation did wonders for his nerves, he found. “You inspire me to violence.” 

Mal chuckled, and Jayne grinned brashly. “That’s better than you feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

“What’s our worst case?” Zoe continued smoothly, and Simon was grateful.

Mal spared him a glance and withdrew his hand at last, convinced Simon was back at the table. “Worst case...We let on we found him, Alliance brings in the calvary.” 

“That’s one. Two, We’re forced to extract him and Alliance takes us in with him.”  Zoe ticked off on her fingers. “We’re here on a thin lie based on Inara’s reputation. Looks legit on paper, but we can’t produce another doctor, and if Camden rolls over, we’re on the hook for that.” 

“Camden’s not the rolling type, but it’d be safer if we handled…”Simon paused, chewing down nausea at the idea. “...If we gave him back off planet. Maybe arrange for the pick-up to happen on Persephone. Make Badger deal with it.” 

“That’s a thought.” Mal agreed, looking between the other two. “How are we doing on the side project?”

“Still don’t have the coverage.” Jayne replied. “I’m working on the terraforming stations next, but there’s a patrol on each I gotta map before I get in.” 

“We’re installing the new tank in two days. I offered to help. Don’t know if they’ll take me up on it.” 

“I can handle that...make it part of Curly’s training, rope in a few of the stablehands. I’ll make a point to bring you along.” Mal turned back to Simon, brow furrowed. “Jayne’s got the paperwork ready, but I haven’t gotten a chance to see Camden’s office yet to switch them out.” 

“Maybe...Maybe I can do that.” Simon started, frowning at his crossed ankles. “I can ask Thomas to show me the papers, let him know I’m worried about a potential contamination. Switch the files out when he’s not looking.” 

“Can you?’ Jayne asked. “Your poker face is.. _. _ _ tā mā de tài kěpàle _ .”

Fucking terrible...Simon smirked quietly to himself, shaking his head. “I’ve cheated every game, Jayne. I don’t need a poker face when I can stack the deck.” 

Mal and Jayne both recoiled, but Zoe snorted a laugh. She waved off whatever tirade Jayne was preparing to keep them on task, returning to the conversation. “So, you’ll do that, then. If the paper’s in place, we can get you off the moon, stash you somewhere, then deal with…”

“Shi Lang. Shun Shi Lang.” Simon offered, rubbing a hand over his face with a tired sigh. “I don’t think any of you should interact with him if we can help it. The less he knows the better. I’ll see what I can find out about him. He’s taking a similar medication regime to River’s, maybe I can...use that, to put him at ease. She and I have made a lot of progress that he maybe hasn’t had access to.” 

“We can make ourselves scarce.” Mal nodded. “I think we should head down to the shuttle tonight, get a call out to Wash and get the ship caught up.”

“...How am I supposed to tell River I’m sending him back?” The question slipped past his lips without permission, and he swallowed thickly. 

Mal glanced over at him, considering it. “Does she need to know?”

Simon shook his head, a flash of her bratty grin and purple tongue stabbing sharp as a needle through his resolve. 

“Then don’t tell her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost a bookmark after that last chapter went up, I hope it didn't scare people off. I have...like...real story arcs now. It's bonafide. 
> 
> Say hello, ask questions if you'd like, I'm down to chat. I'm on tumbler with same moniker, Mikanis.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys remember forty chapters ago? When I was like, Meh, Imma write a Firefly fic. 
> 
> Sheesh.

Simon took dinner in his room, inviting the rest of them to stay. They boiled the kettle out twice before everyone had enough tea, and the general mood of the room was that alcohol wasn’t on the table. For once, Simon wished it was. He really, very badly wanted a drink to fill the silences in conversation. Jayne was talking about his hunting trips, both of which had been wildly successful. He was debating with Mal on whether he could fit the two sets of antlers in his bunk, or if they deserved some space elsewhere on the ship. He was arguing hard for the kitchen, and Mal denied him on the basis that eight months in the black on protein rations would sour the memory of real meat.

Simon was only half listening. Mal sat across from him, Zoe perched companionably on the arm of Simon’s chair with an idle hand on his shoulder. Jayne migrated from the mantle to the floor, to the bookcase to refill his mug, generally pacing. If they were nervous, Simon couldn’t tell.

After a pale young woman collected their dishes on a tray, the four of them donned shoes and collected themselves to make the short trek to the landing strip behind the barn, where the shuttle was kept. Thoughts of talking to River buoyed him. He wanted to know how the kitchen was coming along, if she’d been sleeping well. Did Kaylee remind her to eat, and had there been any episodes that they couldn’t handle without him.

He knew the answer to the last, or they would have hailed the plantation. Mal was in the habit of checking for messages around midday. They set out from the veranda, leaving the french door cracked and a light on. Zoe waved to the sentry post as they cleared the stairwell, and the man in the shadows kicked the short wall twice to acknowledge them. The muzzle of his rifle remained the only glimpse Simon could make out. Jayne lagged a few steps behind, Mal and Simon elbow to elbow and chatting quietly in the dark while Zoe kept three paces ahead with the determined swagger that meant she was going to talk to her husband. They often left her behind to that call, after everyone had said their hellos and made their reports. No one mentioned it.

Simon paused in the doorway while Jayne lit a cigarette and stood outside to smoke. Looking back at the plantation house, the blue and gold patterned planet loomed in the distance, and Persephone glimmered. He would never tire of watching other planetary bodies sink behind whatever horizon he was present to see. However, the shuttle smelled like home. He stepped in, eyes falling to the corner where he’d thrown his shirt a little over a month ago. Almost two, now. He still felt a thrill go through him at the sight of the chair, where Mal braced himself.

It took him a few seconds to realize something was wrong.

“Shuttle Two to Serenity?”  Only static buzzed in answer. Zoe tried again, inspecting the dashboard to make sure the frequency was correct. “Shuttle Two, hailing Serenity.”

And then quieter, frustrated. “Wash?”

At the silence, she glanced up at the captain with a frown, scrolling through the comm log. “Captain, this is bouncing off the polar channel.”

“We shouldn’t be hitting that. Not if they’re between us and...let me look.” He leaned over her and flipped the beacon on, watching the screen change from the comms panel to the tracer screen. The beacon also echoed off the satellite, hit another on the far side of the planet, and finally lit up green.

Simon leaned towards the doorway, calling, “Jayne...come here.”

“They’re on the other side of the planet.” Mal said dully, snapping the beacon off again quickly. The shift in posture was subtle, a hardening of his shoulders and neck as he peered out of the shuttle’s window. Simon felt the anxiety spike again, shivering despite himself. Behind him, Jayne finished his cigarette and flicked it out the door to the grass, exhaling the last of the smoke inside the tiny room.

Mal turned on heel, Zoe on her feet in an instant and bringing Simon along by the elbow. Outside, Mal scanned the dark treeline, turning in a slow circle before cursing and looking up.

Zoe was as well, and Simon forgot to pull himself from her grip as they paced a small circle in the grass. She stopped short at a low whistle from Mal, turning back.

Simon stepped up to his elbow, and the captain pointed at nothing. “I don’t--”

“Follow my sight, just watch.” Mal pulled him in closer and tipped his chin up with two stiff fingers.

There was nothing but stars. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he realized that wasn’t true, There was a shadow, a void in the dark where stars should be. He blinked in confusion. Then once, and only faintly, a red light flashed at the edge, very clearly not a star.

“That’s a ship.” He swallowed, repeating it faintly to himself as his heart picked up. “That’s… a ship.”

Mal nodded. Behind them, Jayne lit another cigarette with a heavy sigh.

“Sir, they haven’t hailed the plantation yet. They’d have told us when we got our plates.”

“We don’t know if they have men on the ground already. Maybe they’re not announcing.”

“I got food for three days at one site.” Jayne spoke up, exhaling smoke through his nose as he shoved his lighter back in his pockets. “I’ll set’em up near moving water, bring that over in the morning.”

“How long are you expected to be gone?” Mal asked darkly, eyes still fixed on the shadow. Simon shivered at his tone.

“Five days.”

“Think you can trap enough to keep them fed without pulling from the house?”

“Mhm.”

It dawned on him that they were talking about him. He glanced between the two and then back at the looming shape in the sky, crossing his arms over his chest. “...I always wanted to go camping.”

Mal’s hand on his back was brisk, turning him back towards the others in long strides. “We walk like we had our call, nothing amiss. Doc, check on your patient, get everything you need to keep him quiet-like for the next few days. I’ll get a bag to you soon as I’m able.”

“He’s almost ready for his next dose, he should be able to walk.” Simon eyed the trees, the captain’s paranoia settling under his skin.

Mal pulled him back with a sharp jerk on his shirt sleeve. “None of that now, if they’re looking, we can’t let on we know.”

“Anymore than we already have.” Zoe muttered bitterly behind him, and Simon nodded, returning his eyes to his feet in the dark. They passed the barn quickly and entered the common area through the back door. Jayne lingered outside while Mal and Zoe cleared the room and then Mal unlocked the office and let the door swing open, every muscle tense.

Shi Lang lay where Simon had left him and barely twitched in the column of light. Simon let Mal wake him up as he darted around the table to his kit, cramming bottles in from the countertop. He cleared the syringe drawer, put a new cartridge in his anaes gun and when the bag was full, he started filling his pockets. He had a short mental inventory by the time he slung it over his shoulder and turned back to help Mal with the patient. Prisoner. Problem. He couldn’t settle on one.

Shi Lang was still groggy, but something in Mal’s manner spoke to him, because he straightened up tensely as the captain dragged him to his feet. “I’m up...m’up, what’s going on?”

“Camping.” Mal quipped, and Simon bit back a laugh that threatened hysteria if he let it loose.

He pushed Mal aside long enough to check his pupil dilation and take his pulse, ignoring the agitated twitch as he explained quietly. “We’re moving a little faster than I anticipated.”

“You talking about me or with him?”

Simon snatched his hands away, blinking hard. Mal glanced between them and gestured impatiently. “Can we? With the leaving?”

The doctor nodded and turned away without a word. Shi Lang followed, and Simon heard the captain growl behind them, “I’m not looking to carry you, son, hustle.”

Jayne looked him over as they descended the steps, pointing with his cigarette clasped between two fingers. “Post up under that oak for an hour or so. I’ll fetch you there.”

“Wait, why?”

“Three of us left you with the patient, you conveniently disappeared. Looks like he took you, genius.” Jayne sneered, digging in his pocket for a knife that fell into Simon’s palm with a heavy click. “Try to keep up.”

Shi Lang piped up, “You’re not turning me in?”

Simon was still staring at the knife.

“I’m undecided on that point.” Mal answered brusquely, stepping up to the young soldier and fixing him with a stare that made the younger man draw up to attention. Opposite sides of the war, perhaps, but Simon supposed his recognition of authority didn’t change anymore than Mal’s ability to wield it. They had a long conversation in the silence, one that ended with Mal’s blunt “...Don’t kill him.”

There was no threat following that statement. The statement was the threat, Simon felt it in the base of his skull. Mal said it with a killer’s absolute clarity, his stormcloud eyes black in the shadows, and Shi Lang gave a tight nod to signal that he understood. Simon wasn’t sure he could have handled it with as much grace. His mind flashed with Mal’s bloody knuckles, the crunch of bone beneath it, and there weren’t words to adequately convey the degree of pain he was promising if Shi Lang did something stupid.

He cleared his throat, just to remember how it worked. “Let’s go.”


	42. Chapter 42

 

Simon woke to a heavy boot nudging his shin. He smelled the cigarette before he opened his eyes, but his usual phased wake-up didn’t seem to apply when he was sleeping on the ground, He sat up abruptly, and Jayne stepped back to give him some space, dropping a heavy pack at his hip. “Mal wants to know where you stashed the papers?”

“Ah...they’re...in the zipper compartment on the back of my suitcase.” Simon answered, resting a hand on the bag. 

Jayne dropped into a crouch, glancing over at the soldier propped up against a nearby tree. “Any trouble?”

“No, I doped him as soon as we stopped moving.”  They’d spent most of the night walking it felt like. Jayne was passingly familiar with the area he camped them in, but it had taken a few extra turns to find the quietest path. He walked with a short flashlight at hip level, clicking it on only long enough to get his bearings before pushing on through the dark. 

Simon had been more nervous than he liked to admit, wandering around in the woods at night. It was a new experience for him, and everything had been so quiet. He felt like he was making too much noise, wanted to ask if he was walking too loudly, but talking seemed completely counterintuitive to the idea of stealth. Instead, he just clung to his bag strap and made himself small, stepping lightly over the branches and stones as he encountered them. Jayne’s complete confidence was comforting, even if it felt like they wandered for hours before he was satisfied. 

Jayne opened a side pocket on his cargo pants and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, tossing them on the blanket by Simon’s knee. 

Simon stared. “...You want me to restrain him?”

“If it comes to it. Better than gettin’ shot.” Jayne said bluntly. “Your call, doc. Also, if someone not-me comes along, you can throw ‘em on yourself and sell the kidnap story.” 

“Any news on that front?” 

“Hailed the plantation this morning, didn’t hear much else.” Jayne sighed and settled on the ground, pulling the sack over and flipping the top open. “You really ain’t ever camped before?”

Simon shook his head, and Jayne rolled his eyes. “Alright, well… it’s not a leisure trip, so the gist of it is stay uphill. Keep him in front of you when you’re moving, don’t stray too far from where I put you. Rule of thumb, if you can see and hear folk, they can see and hear you. Try to keep your head down. Lose the white shirt. No campfires, not til I find a cave that can hide it.”

Simon nodded, all of the advice admittedly common sense, and not what he would have thought about, brushing a hand over the buttons of his...glaringly white shirt. Jayne pulled a dark t-shirt out the pack and threw it at him. “Go on then.” 

“In a minute.” He was still covered in Mal’s marks, and there was no way in hell he was about to expose that reality to the morning sun and Jayne’s judgement. “What else is in there?”

“Hand foods, matches, plastic drape if it starts raining.” Jayne narrowed his eyes, tilting it again to see inside. “Derringer pistol in the side pocket there with a couple of rounds, not loaded. Save it for emergencies. I’ll be huntin’ for you. A can each of coffee and tea, filter sock, just fill it with water the night before, should be good by morning….Won’t be hot, but…”

“That’s more than I anticipated. Thank you.” 

Jayne waved off his thanks with an uncomfortable look. “I’ll be in and out. Still gotta take care of the terraform stations before we can pull this off.”

“I’m amazed you’re still worried about that, given the circumstances.” 

“Well...color me optimistic.”

Jayne lingered a bit longer, demonstrating how make a lean-to and some general camping basics before he lost his patience. When he began walking him through how to light a match, Simon realized both that he was being mocked and, more distressingly, that he didn’t know when it had started. He pointedly asked if the mercenary had anywhere else to be. Jayne cuffed him over the head by way of goodbye, and Simon watched his form stalking off through the underbrush until the trees broke it up. He made a note of how far that was, despite not having a stealthy bone in his body.

When he was sure he was gone, he pulled his shirt off over his head, noting he was just as pale naked as he was wearing the cotton. The t-shirt was two sizes too big, reeked of cigarettes and had a pattern of burn holes along the hem that he stared at curiously. 

He missed his sister. Missed her in the same way he missed flowers that he recognized, planets that could grow real grass. His eyes fell on the sleeping form a few feet away, and Simon braced his elbows on his knees and tried to forgive him. He wasn’t...no, he knew he couldn’t kill him. He remembered standing on Serenity with the bay door open, staring down an Alliance officer who was promising him that they’d never stop looking. When the gunshot rocked his head back, it took him a full thirty seconds to process that he hadn’t fired. Mal and Jayne had thrown the body into the desert before he could pull his eyes away from the bloodstain. 

He’d wondered ever since why Mal had to be the one to take that shot. It wasn’t as though he’d been overly conflicted on the matter. It seemed simple in its mechanics. Pull the trigger, the man goes away. Pull the trigger. Pull it. 

It occurred to him that he could reenact the scene right now if he wanted. Alliance officer, at his mercy, Simon with a pistol at hand and no good reason not to. As though he heard the thought from five feet away, Shi Lang woke with a start and vomited harshly into the grass beside him. Simon let him. He didn’t rush forward, he didn’t place soothing hands on his shoulders, offer a cloth to clean his mouth, he simply grimaced as the smell came to him on the wind, acrid and familiar as the soaps that dried his skin out. When he glanced at his hands, they were going through the motions, fingers brushing over his knuckles and between, up to the wrist and halfway up the forearm. 

He shook them out as Shi Lang’s heaving subsided, sighing to himself. He wouldn’t kill him. And Shi Lang was under orders not to kill Simon, so...he supposed he’d see how that went. “You need to eat. If I put you under again without a meal, that will only get worse.” 

“I slept pretty well, thanks for asking.” 

Simon did not quite roll his eyes, hauling his medic kit over by the strap. In another life, he would have taken the time to pick it up to avoid scuffing the leather, but it wasn’t...he couldn’t...be that, right now. Right now, he was not the well-bred doctor, just...the fugitive, rolling an aching shoulder because he hadn’t learned to clear the ground under his sleeping bag yet. He pulled out the anaes gun and then dug into Jayne’s kit for a ration bar. 

It landed beside the soldier’s knees and he broke off a corner with frown. 

“Are you anywhere near as clever as my sister?”

Shi Lang shook his head, talking around his food, “Hear her tell it, I’m not as clever as you are, either.”

“Hm.” Simon didn’t bother to confirm that, wondering what else River had let slip before she realized she was in danger. Wondered how much of it this man had-- “How did you end up at the academy?”

“It...well.” Shi Lang rested back against the tree, considering the question. “It was a compromise. My father wanted me to join the military, but I wanted to go to college. Then he got a bulletin about a military college. I got my hopes up. I don’t get many compromises where my father is concerned.

About a month later, I was packing. I didn’t meet the other students at the rendezvous, Dad thought opening ceremonies were a waste of time. He had me shuttled to the station with one of his contigents that was up for transfer. I spent the opening week in the barracks. It was pretty strange to watch them all come in with their suitcases, they had...so much hope. I don’t know what they told them to expect.

Civilians have a hard time adjusting to the service environment. And vice versa, honestly, it’s hard to watch officers who are used to a degree of authority interact with young adults who are pretty sure they were personally responsible for the latest genocide.” 

“Shadow?” That earned him an uncomfortable look.

“Yeah, that got...thrown around a lot in the early days. Didn’t earn anyone favors.” 

“When did you meet River?”

“Meet is a generous term. There were rumors about her after the first rounds of tests. A few others stood out, but she was...special. They rotated us through the courses, and she tested out of the first two on her own merit, just like I did. I grew up in an Admiral’s household, there are parts of the...well, it wasn’t all new to me. She showed up in my metaphysics class.”

Something in his expression made the soldier fall quiet and Simon stared at his clasped hands, trying to settle himself. His chest felt tight, thinking of River in her summer dresses and how she must have hated the uniforms. How she was probably one of the one throwing the destruction of Shadow around like the atrocity it was. It was comforting to know that they maintained the lie at least for a while, and he found himself hating the fact that Shi Lang had gotten to see her in those few months leading up to...whatever the turning point was. He imagined her curled in her desk, taking notes, drawing in the corner of the pages when the lecture became circular, letting the other students catch up without drawing attention to how well she grasped the content already. She’d told him about it, in her first few letters. He felt raw inside, as though someone had poured acid down his throat. 

He cleared his throat, and forced himself to ask, “What happened in the second term?”

The letters had stopped for a year. At first, he and his parents would compare their because his were always longer, filled with banter and jokes, the private musings and homesickness that she hadn’t wanted her mother to worry about. They got one more than he did, later, and it had seemed forced. Simon wished he could have seen her handwriting instead of the text on the screen, it was far too clinical to let him dissect her mood. It had felt off. It felt forced, reticent. 

Shi Lang told him. 

Told him how half the students were dismissed without warning, packed and shipped home with a certificate of completion. The remaining graduates were told they had an opportunity to perform an internship on the station if they chose, covered by the original tuition fee. No one had left. He was certain they wouldn’t have been able to if they’d tried. They were isolated from the outside under the guise of confidentiality and clearance issues, paired off in teams with a researcher who they were told would study their progress. 

Shi Lang’s voice became monotonous as he recounted the training. The civilians were forced into calisthenics and weapons combat training with the troops on board. A few of them thought that was neat. River had argued it felt like an enlistment that she hadn’t agreed to. He was pretty sure they starved her for a week in her bunk after that. Her teammate too.She had no recourse. Her researcher, her... _ handler _ , and Shi Lang snarled the word, was her only advocate, and complicit. They called it a morale adjustment. River kept a low profile for a long time after that. 

She would never force an innocent person to suffer along with her, Simon knew, and bit his tongue until it bled. Shi Lang continued without noticing. The soldier didn’t know when they began drugging them, it was hard to pinpoint. Somehow over two weeks, they lost interest in complaining. The training became something to ease the boredom, just what was expected of them. Outside of a few hours a day, they spent their time in their bunks staring at the walls. Each team had a full day of psychological evaluation, that was something to look forward to at first. They started with puzzles. Team against the researchers and eventually, teammates against each other. He said at some point, the teams dissolved, distrustful of one another. River stopped eating again, of her own volition. When she was caught, they stopped drugging the food and switched to forced injections. Every eight hours. It was how they woke up in the morning. 

Eventually one of the male students fought. Shi Lang had been standing at attention outside his door, waiting his turn, and one of the other teams further up the line broke into a scuffle. They managed to separate them, but not before the young  man had broken three of his roommates ribs and the researchers nose. 

Shi Lang took a deep breath, flexing his fingers to shake a phantom tremor away. 

They executed him there in the hall. Shot him point blank in the face and made them wait there while they cleaned up the mess. They dropped all pretense of education after that. Three more students disappeared, an entire team and one of the other girls from a central planet.

“And after that, we were just...numbers.” Shi Lang ran his fingers into the hair behind his ear, tracing the scar. 

“I think I know what came next.” Simon stopped him with a short wave. “I managed to get River into a 3D imager on Ariel a few months ago. How long did go on?”

“...A year? I think.” The soldier shook his head. “It all bleeds together.” 

“Do you know what they were trying to accomplish?”

At this, Shi Lang’s expression turned wary and his eyes darted to anaes gun at Simon’s elbow. He licked his lips, thinking about it, and then warned, “It’s going to sound insane.”

“Try me.” 

“...Do you...do you know how special River is? I mean, really.” Shi Lang scanned the trees, as though he’d rather discuss anything else, but Simon wasn’t going to let him off the hook until he understood what he was dealing with. 

“I know.” He said bluntly. “I grew up with her. I’ve never had secrets from her...and I know that no one can. I’ve...shared her nightmares? I’ve...finished conversations without speaking. I know.” 

“She tunes in like there’s a radio in the room.” Shi Lang shivered, meeting his eyes for the first time in an hour. “Those of us they kept had some aptitude, maybe, but she’s...something else. Practically the next stage of evolution.” 

Simon nodded. “Raising her to be a humble human being was a monumental task.”

“I would not say you succeeded, in the strictest sense.” Shi Lang offered wryly, and Simon felt himself smile despite the gaping hole in his chest.

“So, you share her ‘aptitude’, then. Her talent.” 

“No, mine has some very specific limitations.” Shi Lang answered. He frowned as he searched for his words. “My father knew, but would never admit that he did. It was just unspoken between us for years. We still haven’t talked about it. I think he knew that was why they wanted me.”

“And he let you go anyway?”

“He knew firsthand how useful it could be. He started dragging me to political dinners by the time I was eight. Made sure I shook hands with the people he wanted to know about.” 

“...You have to touch people.” Simon confirmed his suspicions, eyeing his medical bag curiously. “How does that work? Do gloves help?”

“Not really. I tried that, through my teens. Any physical contact is enough.” 

“What it’s like?”

“...Someone talking to me from another room.” Shi Lang moved to lie down, ignoring the tree roots and sliding his boots in the dirt as he settled. “I can’t make it work. I can’t pick and choose what I hear. After the academy, they’d...done something. I used to be able to shut it out. Now, I can’t.” 

“Is it just the...intuition, or do you feel that way about everything?” Simon gave into temptation and pulled his bag over, sorting through the medications he had on hand. “They surgically stripped River’s amygdala. It’s a section of the brain that allows you to do that. Pull the curtains between you and external stressors. It changes how you process information.”

“Sounds about right.” Shi Lang hesitated, turning to look at him. “How is she?”

“Alive.” Simon answered distractedly, reading a label. “I’m working on it.”

“...She’s lucky to have you.” The words echoed, he’d heard them before from people he knew better, and the doctor spared him a glance. “She’s lucky she had someone to pull her out.” 

“Did you?”

“I dropped out of testing when they realized I wasn’t...they called them ‘ranged’ individuals. I was still useful, but not stable enough to send--”   


He cut himself off, and Simon raised an eyebrow. The silence grew until it was clear that Shi Lang was not going to elaborate further on how he’d been used post-academy. Simon could only imagine. 

Simon pulled a pack of syringes out and put together a small line up of what he had available to him from River’s regimen. Gathering them in a fist, he picked up the anaes gun and closed the gap between the two, settling on his knees at the soldier’s side as he walked him through what he was using and why. Shi Lang stuck his arm out resignedly and the doctor swabbed the area with an alcohol pad, noting the multiple faded scars from larger needles and clumsy hands. He’d have mistaken him for a junkie if he’d come into the emergency room. 

Shi Lang took them all without complaint, eyes on the blue sky and streaks of clouds visible through the branches overhead. Simon picked up the anaes gun and he withdrew slightly, his words ringing tinny through the doctor’s head as he pulled the trigger. 

“You have to know she’s dangerous.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter because the next scene got too long, I'm sorry it's so short on its own.

There was a storm on the horizon, Simon could see it building low and heavy over the trees. He followed Shi Lang and Jayne further up the ridge in the late afternoon, the sun obscured from the west by the black clouds. The air was thick and vibrant, spatters of early drops ringing off the leaves over head as they wound higher into the mountainside. Everything was green, verdant, shot through with gold and the occasional splash of color from late blooming flowers. They were headed for a cave, supposedly, just on the other side of the ridge, that promised any fires they made would be hidden from the plantation’s view. It was the promise of hot food that kept him moving. He hadn’t seen Mal in three days. He hadn’t spoken to River in just over a week. 

The storm wouldn’t break until much, much later, well after sundown. Simon spread his blanket in the mouth of the cave and dumped his packs a little further back. The stone floor swept down and fell away over a short ridge to the forest debris below, and would, according to Jayne, keep them dry. Enough. Ish.

The channel itself curved away to the left a few feet in, allowing a firepit with adequate light cover. They didn’t need the heat, but Jayne had a deer leg thrown over one shoulder, wrapped in heavy canvas from the barn. He took the time to portion it into steaks and while he worked, Shi Lang occupied himself building a rack over the fire so they could smoke what they didn’t finish. Simon excused himself when he realized they were making long term plans to be in the woods. Weeks, perhaps a full month. He didn’t know if it was just two men revelling in their survival skills or if the Alliance had taken up residence at the plantation...and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

He wished Mal would take a hike and come see them. If he couldn’t have River, having someone at hand who possessed a modicum of respect for him would be better than nothing. Jayne meant well enough, but Jayne’s definition of good graces only meant slightly fewer insults. Any conversation deeper than the proverbial water drop shut him down. And it was a shame, because Simon was coming understand how clever the man really was. He certainly knew why Mal kept him around, but there was a furtive edge that Simon didn’t think he’d ever lose. He was perpetually guilty. He was perpetually weighing the odds to find his favor. 

Lonely, was the word. He’d never say it out loud, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk to Shi Lang about anything but River, and that usually shut them both down in quick order. It wasn’t for lack of effort on the soldier’s part, but there were long stretches of silence the first two days, and on the third, he’d outright asked Simon if he could sleep through the awkwardness because it’d make them both feel better. 

So, Simon had drugged him. 

Standing on the ridge, listening to the two speak lowly behind him, he stared over the valley with both hands in his pockets. The river was a dark band barely visible in the distance to his left, and when the wind picked up, he watched the tree ripple and wished, privately, for half a second, that he could bring himself to enjoy this. The solitude was peaceful. The quiet was welcome, more complete, filled with the hum of insects and not engines. He reminded himself not to say that out loud in front of Kaylee.

The smell of hot coffee and cooking meat lured him back into the shadows.

XXXX

He awoke with a cold sweat, slammed from deep sleep to full cognitive function with a breathtaking clarity. He was still hung on the slick feel of blood under his gloved fingers, the drag of a scalpel gone dull as he trimmed black, cracking burns open to find the clean meat below. 

Sitting up, he stripped his soaked shirt off, half convinced Jayne had been wrong and he was actually lying in a puddle of rainwater. The blanket was dry, to his chagrin. Simon rubbed his arms used the shirt to wipe his face before setting it overhead by the bags. The fire had burned to coals hours ago, providing scarce light and throwing dark shadows over the cave walls. Shi Lang slept on in a drug induced haze, oblivious to his surroundings. 

Outside the cave, the rain poured. He heard the water rushing nearby and and knew there was a run off channel close enough that he could go wash up if he wanted. Gathering a fresh set of clothes, he tried to shake the last images of the nightmare from his head. 

It had been so long since he’d had a nightmare of his own that the familiarity of it felt like a childhood bedroom. Usually, he was sharing in River’s fears to some degree. Their dreams had interwoven, been exchanged both in sleep and over the breakfast table for as long as he could remember. His own nightmares felt smaller, more concise, and far too relevant. Without River, he couldn’t escape them. There were no blurred edges to run to where he could slip from one scene to the next, they were suffocating. He’d felt more than seen Camden over his shoulder, working down the line of wounded men at the counter again, the click-hiss of the anaes gun and the quivering flesh under his hands demanding his entire attention. He was pretty sure the last man, that last muttered curse and tremor, had been Mal. Simon didn’t want to think too hard on that.

He didn’t have to wait long for his eyes to adjust to the dark outside the cave. The clouds covered the landscape in pitch, not a single star managed to make it through, much less the outline of the planet and its permeating glow. He followed the sound of the water a few feet away from the cave mouth and found his run off channel, pouring a heavy stream of water from the stone outcropping to the flat stone beneath it. It was cold to the touch, so Simon leaned under it to shower, smiling when the occasional pebble tumbled down to strike his shoulder or scalp.  

It wasn’t until he was headed back, when the wind shifted, that he realized where he was. The breeze rolled in from the river, cresting the ridge and bringing with it the faint trace of hundred of bodies soaking through the loam.

The mass grave was within walking distance. His stomach rolled over, and he retreated into the shadows of the cave once more, clinging to the smoke and rubbing his bare hands together to ground himself in the here and now, where there no blood, no Mal, no singed flest under the heel of his shoe.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters tonight, make sure you don't miss the first one. I had to break this up a little.

 

Heavy hands settled around his ankles in a punishing grip, and Simon’s groan of confusion was lost in the echo of loud voices bouncing off the cave walls. He understood in seconds that it was not Jayne, his first assumption, but by the time he thought to struggle, the bag and the gun within were out or reach. 

The early morning sunlight was blinding, throwing bright spots of color into his eyes before they adjust enough to confirm the lack of uniforms on the men. Before he could register anything else, a fist cracked his teeth together and split his lip, rocking his head back against the stone. He felt a thick hand checking his pockets and when they came away with the handcuffs, there was a short whistle, his captor tossing them back into the dark of the cave. Shi Lang came along much more quietly, stumbling drunk on the cocktail Simon resorted to keep himself safe. He almost wished he’d forgone it now, he could have used an ally. 

Pain throbbed through the left side of his face, a warm slick of blood making its way down his chin to fall on his chest. It glittered in the morning light and Simon was hard-pressed to remember the last time he’d seen his own blood. Almost a year ago, at this point. His teeth ached. He should really be resisting.

Instead, his eyes fell on a familiar black cowboy hat, watching the slaver light the remnants of a cigar as the doctor’s wrists were jerked together and bound tightly with a coarse rope. 

“Doctor.”

“...Camden.” Simon replied, for lack of wit. 

The old man stood silhouetted against a blue sky, watching three others pack up what was left of the campsite. Shi Lang was still not coherent. “Want to tell me what brought on this impromptu camping trip?”

Simon grimaced as the man kneeling over him pulled him up to his knees by the collar of his shirt. He didn’t recognize him. He licked his lips and then winced, having forgotten for a second that one had a sizable strip of raw flesh in the corner. He could feel it swelling. “Kidnapped.”

Camden’s eyebrows rose, glanced pointedly at the soldier on the ground a few feet away. Simon looked as though seeing him for the first time again, the slump of his shoulders and the vaguely wasted appearance of what was once a well-maintained physique. Simon was in arguably better shape. Possibly larger than Shi Lang, actually, given how loosely the darker man’s ratty t-shirt and patched work pants fit him. His belt had new notches that looked to be made with a pocket knife. Simon frowned. 

The slaver drawled, “S’that the story you’re gonna tell me?”

Simon had none better. He stuck with it. “I eventually got the upperhand. Got lost.” 

“Well.” Camden reached down and hauled him up to his feet, and Simon wildly glanced at his gun, just within reach now. But that wasn’t his move. That hadn’t worked so well the last time. The slaver brought him to the edge of the ridge, pointing through the trees to the vague outline of a blue tin roof. A thin ribbon of white smoke rose in front of the mountain opposite them and Simon took in the processing facility with a grimace. “You’re a fool then. Could have had us a nice walk down, sorting out our misunderstandings.” 

Simon eyed him, leaning unconsciously away from the rank cigar smoke curling past his face. 

“I guess your trip’s gonna be a might’ quicker.” Camden bit his fingers and let out an ear piercing whistle and too late, Simon spotted the moving shapes at the bottom of the ridge. One raised a hand in acknowledgment.

He was airborne before he registered the flat hand between his shoulder blades. 

Simon had never fallen. Not like this. This was not the same uneasy cold twist he’d experienced stepping out into the black in a suit of mylar, no, this was much more visceral, immediate, and he only thought to brace himself a half second before he hit the stone below and started rolling. There was the very unique crack of his ribs on the right side, and suddenly every indrawn breath was murder, but he couldn’t help breathing. 

He wasn’t screaming, he didn’t think. Below, there was a thin cover of leaves and shorn branches but the mountain did not yield for one as small as he. He bounced, trying to make himself small, but every turn brought a sharp new pain that he catalogued along the way. Two broken ribs, minimum. His little finger took the brunt of his weight once, that was at least a sprain. Another short drop dislocated his shoulder, and he abruptly couldn’t feel that finger anymore. Branches and stone caught between his shirt and the ground, tearing half a dozen fresh cuts into his skin, one outright puncture in his thigh. He lost momentum, the world still spinning, and added possible concussion to the list with a breathless laugh that sounded more like an animal’s cry than anything human. The slave waiting for him caught him up by the elbow and recoiled at the way his arm twisted unnaturally in his grip. Simon did scream then, the gap between the ball and cap of his shoulder pulling blindingly tight. The slave merely grabbed the other one, and got both hands under his chest. Simon felt the bones grind in his ribcage in a red wash of pain, and decided the prudent thing to do would be to fall unconscious.

XXXX

He awoke with the ghost of adrenaline painted over every muscle. Lactic acid, he knew, much the same as after a work-out, but the slightest attempt to move sent hot washes of pain through everything. Everything hurt. Hurt enough to make him vomit, every breath shallow and tight, and he bit down on the panic that he was suffocating. Assessed his lungs and their function. The right side was gimp, but working. His air hissed through his teeth but there was no pressure keeping it from inflating and when he exhaled, he was able to push the air to his satisfaction. Simon’s ribs were broken, but he wasn’t looking at a punctured lung or an internal bleed that would collapse one side of his chest. At least not yet.

The doctor knew without testing that his shoulder was very badly in need of attention as well. His mind had completely shut it off to him, the dislocation severe enough that his hand had gone numb in the rope. Blood glued his pants leg to his thigh, bits of leaf and dirt clinging to the edges of the wound. Possibly a bit of tree shrapnel there, still. The ooze was slow enough that it was safe to ignore it for now, his body clotting around the intrusion and trying to slow it. It had bled down and across his other thigh, he could feel it seeping into the thin fabric between his skin and the floor. 

The lip now had what felt like a matching tear on the upper side, but his teeth seemed to be intact from what he could tell. Another warm trickle of blood was matting his hair against the nape of his neck. 

There were voices. Contained voices, ricocheting off an interior of some kind, but he didn’t have to open his eyes to smell the furnace and the grave outside. He knew where he was. 

A heavy thud behind him made him groan, and then Mal’s voice pierced the red haze, but brought no comfort with it. “Simon?” 

Then, more sharply, “ _ Thomas _ !” 

He felt the footsteps vibrating the floorboards as they approached and the hand that landed on his shoulder turned him over. Simon couldn’t unclench his jaw long enough to protest, instead hissing his protest as Thomas stretched him on his back. “God...I don’t…”

“Where’s his kit?”

The slaver’s son stumbled away from him. There was a breath of silence.

“Simon, are you with me?” He heard the captain, the low urgency of his tone, but couldn’t respond aside from a lift of his eyebrows. Mal swore under his breath, but he didn’t come closer. Maybe he couldn’t. Simon tried not to hold that against him. “Simon, come on.” 

Simon grunted, heel dragging uselessly over the ground as he tried to straighten out. His shoulder exploded as it came into contact with the ground and he might have been ashamed of the noise he made under different circumstances. 

Thomas returned, and Simon forced his eyes open to take in his pale face, the fine sheen of nervous sweat on his brow. One eye had a bloody haze in it, he added a subconjunctival hemorrhage to the catalogue.

Bluntly, he’d never been so happy to see his anaes gun. Thomas spoke low and quickly, seemingly at a loss for where to start. 

“Should--” Simon managed, and Thomas’ expression turned to one of gratitude and wonder, jarred out of his shock. Simon didn’t even feel the first injection. 

He nodded sharply, keening slightly when Thomas started to move away. The veterinarian returned to the same area and put a second shot in. A third, before Simon was satisfied. Then he moved on, waiting for nods as his cue to dose. 

Simon hoped he’d thought to turn the dosage down, or he was very likely overdosing himself. His breathing began to even out just as Camden’s voice appeared in the doorway and Thomas sprang back, making himself busy at the counter. 

“No sign of the other two yet?” 

“No sir, we grounded the shuttle.”

“Let me know. Take the other one up to the house and post up with a couple of boys in his room. We’ll call the cruiser in the morning.” 

Simon stared at the ceiling, knowing that he should care about that information, but the why escaped him. The painkillers and sedatives were only just taking the edge off, and he wasn’t sure he could ease to a sitting position on his own, so he just… waited. 

“Get him up.” 

Thomas flinched, turning a level stare at his father. The doctor’s head lolled to the side as he approached, pulling a pocket knife out. He should fight. He should resist. He kept having this conversation with himself, but his ‘self’ was rather tattered and thoroughly engrossed in the fact that he felt completely alone in the universe in this moment. 

“He  _ can’t _ .” Mal hissed, and he felt a little better. However, it was followed immediately by a meaty  _ thud _ , and then the level draw of Mal inhaling through his nose, furious.

Simon realized that Thomas was sawing the knot off the rope around his wrists and in a split-second decision, used it as a tourniquet around his thigh. The nausea rose in his throat and he gagged as he was pulled upright to lean against the wall between the counter and the bench. 

Oh, there was Mal. Drunk on pain and painkillers, he had a notion to wave but his fingers only twitched as blood returned to the icy skin. His mouth twitched up at the corners, and something softened on the edges of Mal’s expression, but not enough to hide the rage. His own cheek had something that looked decidedly like a boot print. 

Camden tossed the brand in the furnace and then made his way to sit on the bench between them. Mal looked as though he’d lost a fight, but he was nowhere near as cowed as Simon was in this moment, and that seemed oddly unfair, somehow. At least one of them was able to think in a straight line, though. 

“Now.” Camden started, ashing his cigar between Simon’s shoes as he considered him quietly. “Turns out Dr. Jacob Turing had some kind of stroke a few days ago. Turns out, it happened in his offices. On Persephone. And I thought to myself, that shuttle ain’t left my strip in over a week, so how did you manage to get all the way back there?” 

Camden paused to smoke, glancing between the two of them. “So, I checked, and turns out your ship cut out a few days ago, but still...after. Left you here. Occurs to me that happened the same time an Alliance Cruiser made orbit.

I could, ask you two to repeat all that lovely story you sold me.”  The slaver paused, but Mal’s jaw clenched so hard he could see a vein working in one corner and Simon was barely keeping up with the narrative anyway. He shook his head, sighing as he set his hat aside. “I hate it when people take me for a fool, boys. You can’t know how much. I don’t--”

“It’s not what you think.” Mal finally offered and Camden turned cold eyes on him, incensed.

“You interrupt me again, I’ll brand you like I branded your mother.” 

A planet cracking could not encapsulate the silent roar that shook Mal from head to toe at that statement. He might have been stone, in that moment, and Camden continued lowly, “You think I don’t know who you are? That I haven’t known from the second you got off that gorram shuttle? ‘Least you had the courtesy to use your own name. Brought the law to my home and to add insult to injury, that woman you brought with you killed every box man I had on duty on her way off the property.” 

So, Zoe was still in the wind. Jayne too. It was hard to put thoughts in order. Mal was staring at him, eyes unfocused, and Simon might have flinched from that look if he thought that Mal could actually see him, but he was so tired. God, he was just...tired. 

“What did you do with her?”

“I  _ married  _ her, not that you bothered ask.” Camden snapped, pulling on his cigar, and Simon had the dull suspicion that he knew this story, but he hell if he could fill Mal in now. He recognized this was important. Really important. He wondered if he’d remember it later. “The brandin’ came later.  What I want to know is, who is this sorry son of a bitch bleeding on my floor?”

Neither of them answered. Camden finally lost his patience, lifting his boot to place it squarely over the rope tourniquet and grind down. 

Simon screamed, shocked back to lucidity for a handful of seconds. God, perhaps that leg was broken after all. “I’m...not...not who they were looking for. Simon. My name is Simon.” 

He locked eyes with Mal, knowing he’d said too much, but the murderous expression on the captain’s face told him not to worry about it. However this ended, he didn’t intend to leave witnesses. Emboldened, rushing through pain, he slurred through his next sentence. “I’m a doctor. We came here...for the other one. Bounty.”

Camden removed his boot, remarking dully. “You expected a bounty from the Alliance.”

Simon nodded, pulling his injured leg up weakly and gagging when the flow of blood changed direction and ran down to the crease of his hip and thigh instead. 

“And I thought you were clever.” 

The insult made him angry enough to focus, the black look on Mal’s face a brick wall several yards thick that he wasn’t sure he could bridge. Camden stood, looking him over with a disgusted expression, and Simon could tell that Mal was infinitesimally tuned to his movement, tracking him as he passed the table and turned the iron over in the fire. 

“I been doin’ this longer than either of you have been alive. Not the first fugitive I’ve had tried to slip under the radar. I’ve had a standing contingency plan in place with the Alliance for years.  We’re three generations in, here, I know this property like the back of my hand. I know where you’ve been, I know where you’re going. I know you’ve got a two man calvary out there in my woods. They don’t know about the thermal cameras. They don’t know about my patrols. They don’t know who they’re dealing with.” 

“Why’d ...you let us stay?” Simon asked, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Call it a fondness for useful people.” Camden sneered over his shoulder, pulling the iron from the fire with a appraising look at the glowing tip. 

Before Simon could draw breath to warn him, the slaver turned around and swung it heavy against the back of Mal’s skull, striking with the cooler center of the iron bar. The captain crumpled heavily, and Camden moved to the door. Propped it open so he could wave two men in to pick him up. 

Mal was bound with a steel chain and padlock around iron bracelets. Simon pushed weakly from the floor as they dragged him over to the table, his remaining blood souring in his veins at the sight.  “Don’t…”

They put him on his knees,circling the chain around his back to lock in him in a caricature of a hug around the sharp cornered pillar holding the bloody table up. He groaned, and Simon’s head spun, rambling. “Don’t...please, don’t, I can’t…”

Camden returned to iron to the fire. 

“I can’t fix him.” Simon begged, forcing his mouth to move, but he was getting lightheaded, the combination of blood loss and sedatives finally forcing darkness in at the edge of his vision. He tried anyway. “I can’t, like this...i can’t fix…”

“Nothing personal, son.” Camden said as he slipped away. “This is just the only way he’s useful now.”


	45. Chapter 45

He drifted, for a long time. Particular sounds were impossible to interpret, instead it all moulded into a dull roar that didn’t quite reach his ear drums. It was easier to exist in this shell, though the curtain between his logic and his breaking heart seemed very thin. Lizard brain, he so fondly called it, was aware that things were very, very bad. A tremor set in, causing the fingers of his left hand to twitch and dance despite the stubborn lack of feedback from his arm below the elbow. Watching his hand was easier than watching Mal, and perhaps that was cowardly. Simon wasn’t sure. 

It took conscious effort to breathe. Every exhale was accompanied by a grind that left his vision hazy, the blood loss causing strange auras even in the eye that wasn’t damaged. Motions seemed slow. The roar, he realized, was exactly that, but not the result of ambiguous sounds running together, it was Mal. He watched the table shake where it was bolted to the ground and wondered at the strength it must have taken to budge it an inch. Wondered at how much pain was required to pull that sound from the usually stoic captain. 

Not that he was in much better shape, honestly. At some point, Mal fell quiet, slumped against the table’s edge and heaving for air. Camden returned the iron to the fire and spoke with someone at the door again before leaving Thomas with curt orders not to let either of them die while he went to deal with something. Thomas stared at the open door for a half a breath, snapped another cartridge into the anaesthetic gun and dropped heavily to his knees next to the doctor. There was delicate pressure on the skin surrounding his displaced shoulder and Simon was too exhausted to cry out, the sound of  protest more of a groan riding a shaky exhale than anything. Thomas grimaced, and the doctor picked his head up when the grip became more definitive--”Nnghno, don’”

“I have to. You know I have to.” Thomas muttered apologetically and the numbing agents did nothing to disguise the grating of bone on bone and what Simon had identified as dull pressure previously became a shriek of pain from the tendons in his neck all the way through his stiff fingers. Tears spilled unbidden over his cheeks, his body reacting without consent from headquarters at all, he was just...numb. Numb and so tired. 

It would feel worse before it felt better, and a few quick shots from the anaes gun quieted the area enough that Simon could ignore it for now. Thomas picked his head up, checking his pupils and slapped his cheek gently to keep him in the moment. It would be so much easier to sleep. “Simon, come on. I need you.”

“Mal?” 

“Is going to need you, I can’t--”

“M’here.” Came the rough answer, and Thomas looked over his shoulder, stunned. 

Looked between the two of them and sighed, sitting back on his heels. “God, I can’t… do this. Anymore. I’m done.” 

“Feel free to loose me.” Mal picked his head up, a sheen of sweat and smoke plastering his hair to his forehead, but even Simon heard the murder in his voice. “Anytime.”

“Your doctor needs help. Needs another doctor, or a hospital.” Thomas informed him quietly, then seemed to remember Mal's condition and roused himself to take the anaesthetics over to the captain. He peeled the edges of the shirt back and Simon swallowed thickly, wondering how much he’d missed, how bad the damage was, if he could just...get closer. At all. God, he just wanted to go to work. 

“He hasn’t branded him.” Thomas seemed to pick up on his distress and Mal just grunted, not even flinching at the needle as the veterinarian put several shots into the wounds. “And he won’t, he’s got no legal right to. He’s... a practiced hand. Keep it clean, it won’t scar too badly.”

As an afterthought, he pulled the shirt up and inspected Mal’s wrists. “Keep holding the chain like that, it’ll keep you from skinning your wrists when you pull.”

“Simon.” Mal started, leaning away from the table leg long enough to meet his eyes, and the doctor tried to smile for him. Whatever the captain was going to say died in his throat, and he wished he had the coherency to say something reassuring. To tell him it wasn’t that bad. Even if it was. Even if he was looking at permanent nerve damage to his left arm, if he didn’t bleed out before they managed to escape. The captain didn’t seem convinced by his brave face. He turned back over his shoulder. “Thomas...I could use a friend in the room. That ain’t dying.”

“Well, you don’t need him for that, sir.” 

Zoe. God, laughing hurt, he thought it might hurt more than the actually breaking of the ribs had, but he couldn’t help himself. It turned into a cough towards the end, but he tasted no blood, trying to push himself higher on the wall. Thomas’ hands rose into the air, eyes trained on the business end of her half barrel shotgun where it peered around the door, the soldier crouched to one side. 

“Simon?” 

“He’s there.” Thomas pointed, and Zoe’s head appeared, looking over the bench with a frown. He could see the pain in her eyes at his condition, but the implacable mask below that never slipped.  

She glanced behind her once and then eased into the room, settling on the bench just inside the door and crossing her legs as though they were chatting over a meal. “What’s going on with my boys, Thomas?”

“Uh...well...Simon is...the worst of it.” Thomas licked his lips nervously. “I got...a chain here, I can’t deal with, but Mr. Reynolds could still kill me with his pinky finger were that not the case.”

Mal chuckled darkly at that, a decided ‘if only’,  and Simon was smiling despite himself. He blinked between the three of them, and piped up, the words slurring past his lips without any real cadence. “Don’t...shoot him, or I’m going to die.” 

Zoe considered the man, but her barrel didn’t waver. Thomas hesitantly raised the anaesthetic and went back to work. “Plantation house is burning, and I just want to go on record that we didn’t do that.” 

“You didn’t?”

“No, been sitting outside listening to...this.” He heard the snarl in her voice and the veterinarian had the courtesy to look ashamed. 

“If he comes back and the men outside are--”

“They’re just fine, though Jayne is inclined to make them less so.” 

Thomas’ eyes widened. “How did you get in here? Without killing them?”

“The same way I killed the four Alliance officers they posted up in your sentry boxes.” Zoe answered without a hint of sarcasm, her tone cold. “I’m real quiet.”

“Jesus Christ…” The vet looked ten years younger, standing at last and backing up a step, his eyes darting to the door. He crossed behind the table to the counter again, leaning on it, and Zoe’s gun followed him every step, her expression unreadable. 

She reached into her pocket set out a pair of heavy wrenches on the bench next to her. “Camden wouldn’t have ridden all the way back to the house. Just the edge of the mountain, where he could get a better report. Ten minutes there, ten back. You’ve got about fifteen to get a link on that chain open. I’m going to go kill the gas. And  _ you _ .”

There, she paused, gesturing at Thomas with her shotgun in a way that made him flinch. “Are going to offer to turn it back on. I’ll be waiting to take you up the hillside.” 

“There’s six armed men out there.” 

“There won’t be. By the time the gas cuts off.” 

Simon shifted, and Zoe turned back to him with an appraising look. “You ain’t walking, so I’ll get the hovercraft and come back for you two.” 

At that, she rolled her shoulders, easing to floor in a crouch as she peered out into the darkness. “Thomas, you give me any reason to doubt your participation in this endeavor, I’ll slit your throat and put you somewhere they won’t find you.” 

Simon glanced over in time to watch the slaver’s son swallow, and some cocktail of validation and sympathy tinged his expression. His people. His dangerous people, with the planning, and the violent salvation. Zoe was right, he’d needed people. He’d needed these people.

In a smooth motion, the ex-lance corporal rolled from her heels to balls of her feet and vanished into the night, and Thomas sank against the counter as soon as she did. 

“Chain.” Mal snapped, and he came back to himself, rounding the table to the wrenches and setting work under the tatters of the captain’s shirt. Mal splayed his fingers to keep them out of the way. He strained with the link, slipped and cursed and tried again, prying it apart.

“Go ahead and kill him. Please.” He muttered through clenched teeth, and Mal turned his head to look over his shoulder. Thomas glanced at Simon again. “I should have done it a long time ago.”

“I can manage that.”  Mal turned back around. “He’ll be the pile of ashes in the furnace.”

“Great.” With final twist, the link came open, and he guided Mal’s fingers to it so he could sort out the edges. “Then I’ll still have something to piss on.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That BAMF Zoe, though, amirite?

 

Camden returned with little fanfare, hardly sparing Simon a glance as he entered the room. This made him unreasonably angry for that all that he was crippled, and willing to bet the most useless man in the room. In a fight at least. He was no stranger to helplessness in recent years, but he loathed its ever present weight in his mind. His entire life, he’d hated being dismissed. Written off. Simon was righteous, and far too clever to sit idle.

Whether it was adrenaline or the copious amounts of opioids in his system that spawned this, rage, he wasn’t sure. His bruised lips curled into a sneer, watching the man turn the iron over under one of the jets of blue flame. He inhaled unsteadily and raised his voice, willing some strength into it. “How do you know we only have two men?”

Camden glanced at Thomas first before he realized it was Simon speaking from the floor and an eyebrow crept towards his hairline. “Thermal cameras. Think I mentioned that.” 

“Yeah but...How’d…” Simon had to pause to breathe, fixing the man with a sharp look and pretending he wasn’t seeing double. “How’do you know I wasn’t recruiting. In the clinic.”

Camden chuckled. “You think you only saw the elderly and small by chance? I wasn’t about to let you near anyone with an opinion.” 

“What about him?” He nodded to Mal, smirking at the slaver. “Left him with a whole team of...new recruits, let him…”

“Kill a man. I’m aware.” Camden nodded, and reached for the iron again. Simon wanted to roll his eyes, he acted like there was actual wood in the fire that needed to be arranged. “Figured he was biding his time till he found what he was looking for.” 

“Oh right. Yeah.” Simon sneered, drawing his less injured leg into a curl so he could drape his arm over it. “Thomas told me that story. Though he left out the branding. Tell me, did you brand her before or after the pregnancy?”

At that, Camden turned back to him with sharp eyes, and Simon almost believed, a ghost of pain in the corners of his mouth. “....Before. Well before.”

“Sadist.” Simon accused, licking his dry lips, and he sounded whimsical, trying to force the air between his teeth. “Part of the wedding then?” 

Camden’s jaw worked quietly. Simon forged on. “I mean...much more...permanent, I guess. If you eschew the rings, and all.” 

“...I don’t think you could survive a gunshot on top of all that.” 

“Try me.” Simon laughed, refusing to acknowledge the wheeze in it, blinking against starry pain. “Just...strikes me. You gave such a nice..speech, about taking...control of these people. To Inara. Remember? Something about angry bunch of children. The whole...consent issue, bothers me.” 

Camden’s hand strayed to his pistol. Thomas was looking at him like he’d grown a third head, and Mal was listening raptly, eyes cut back to the man in black over his shoulder. 

“Kinda...incestuous, by your logic.” Simon spat the words at him, having talked himself breathless. The slaver’s eyes met his steadily, and Simon held them. 

“She was a woman grown, and with me years before we decided.” Camden bit off, his thumb tracing the hammer of his pistol. “She’s free now, the child too.”

“Did you even name it?” 

The gas sputtered. Camden glanced at the furnace and pulled his gun from the holster, training it on Simon with rage simmering just below the surface of his features. Simon just smirked. “Thomas. Check the valve.”

“So they can put a bullet in my head when I round the corner?”

“Go.” 

“She did name him.” Thomas replied, coldly, pushing himself off the bench as he headed for the door. Mal watched him go, and Simon watched Mal, his fingers working deftly under the cover of his shirt. “At the birth, that you missed. She named him David.” 

“Check the valve.”  Camden ordered again, rounding Mal’s side. Mal sent him a look that said to tone it down, they still had to catch him off guard, and Simon focused on the barrel of the gun instead, asking himself if he was ready to go. 

He felt lighter. Cold. Sweat stung every open wound on his person with salt, and a chill was beginning to settle in his belly. He felt heavy, and slow, his head pounding without mercy, but somewhere, in the black, River was taken care of. She was with people who would protect her. People that loved her, even. He couldn’t feel her in his head from this distance, if anything, her loss echoed as sharply as a stone down a ravine. She wouldn’t feel him slip away. That had always been his worst nightmare, in all this, the only thing that kept him from considering any sort of suicide. He would have to kill her first, to spare her the aftermath. 

And it had occurred to him, in his darker moments. On the nights when all she could do was scream and cry and there was no evidence of her mental presence in her eyes. When she drove him to a quiet, scared place, when he thought he might never get her back if he wasn’t enough to ground her. He thought of Shi Lang’s tired expression, macabre humor. 

But there, glaring at him just behind Camden’s knees, was someone else who’d expect him to be around. Someone that needed him. There were more people that needed him now than perhaps ever before in his life. And River was mending. The last few months were far and away better than the first weeks after the cryo cell had been. It was selfish, to consider his life less valuable than theirs. He was hard pressed to care, but he knew that, all the same. 

He’d never entertained these thoughts for long. Always pushed them down and away, recognized them for what they were. Toxic, painful expressions of frustration, unfair to consider. Here, when the option might no longer be a choice, he made peace with it. 

He met Camden’s eyes and gave him permission. He was not helpless. He would not yield. He would not forgive this man a second of his miserable existence, and his empathy fell far short of pity for the conflicting emotions he saw in the man’s face. He didn’t care if he’d loved her. He didn’t care if he’d begged her to stay, if he’d branded Thomas in a desperate bid to spare them the life they both knew would follow. 

Camden deserved nothing from him, and he’d die before he offered him the satisfaction of retracting his accusation. Instead, he leveled it again, bitter on his tongue. “Fucking Sadist.”

And Mal exploded. 

Between the gun rising to eye level and Camden’s next breath, the chain dropped, hissing against the stone floor and around the slaver’s throat. The shot splintered the wood next to Simon’s head and Mal took only a split-second to acknowledge that he was still breathing before  throwing Camden to the floor and following heavily. 

Simon watched him plant a boot on the man’s face and scrabble for a better grip on the chain where it was still attached to the cuff on his wrist. His shirt hung in halves, still partially tucked into his belt, and Simon heart lurched to see the long, straight burns that started on his right shoulder and stopped just shy of his clothing. They were red, welted in places, missing skin in others, and his mind supplied the hissing sound it must have made as Camden rolled the brand across. A practiced hand, Thomas had called it. 

He swore that if he lived through this, it would be his personal mission to make sure those didn’t scar. 

No gunshots answered the fire, and Thomas had not returned, and Simon watched the arch of Mal’s shoulders as he found new leverage and thought, bizarrely, that he looked beautiful in this moment. Camden’s hands fought for purchase on his clothing, clawed bloody lines down his forearms, but Simon was spared the sight of his face going purple. He imagined those eyes clouding, the tiny blood vessels bursting until they matched his own and it brought him grim satisfaction. 

Mal didn’t relent until well after the spasms ceased. A small pool of blood was forming under the man’s shoulder when he finally grunted. The chain’s links were muffled somewhat and slicked with red when he stood, stepping back with his other foot first. His jaw cracked under Mal’s weight. The captain turned back to Simon and relaxed a little, shoulders dropping. 

After digging for the key to the other shackle, he tossed the chain over the corpse and slipped the ruined shirt off completely, leaving it on the floor. His hand was warm against Simon’s forehead as he pulled at the shirt, lifting it to inspect his ribs and shoulder with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“M’fine.” 

“No, you are a far sight from fine, Simon.” Mal brushed his hair back, his fingers tracing the damaged eye with a feather light touch. Simon attempted his brave face again, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “What the hell got into you?”

“I was high. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” Simon shrugged with his good shoulder, pulling Mal’s hand down to rest over his heart. “How’s my pulse?”

Mal left his hand there a second longer before pressing his fingers to the side of Simon’s throat, and something warm bloomed in his chest that Mal knew enough to correct the gesture. He knew what his pulse was doing, of course, he’d just...wanted to keep touching him. If Mal knew that, he didn’t let on. “Weaker than I’d like, but steady. I don’t trust myself to move you, we’ll have to get a litter.” 

“I think I’ll make it home.” Simon agreed, prodding his injured arm curiously with his good hand. He sighed,capturing Mal’s hand as he started to pull away. “Just...just stay, a minute. You felt so far away.”

Mal’s eyes went soft, and the doctor was few pints of blood short to blush, but the older man didn’t say a word, simply slotted himself against the against the bench and gingerly pulled Simon to his side.


	47. Chapter 47

 

Simon knew from the considering looks when they entered, dragging the stretcher behind them, that this would not go well. Jayne stepped over Camden’s body with a little snort of amusement, and then those heavy hands slipped under his shoulders and Zoe gripped him by the knees. 

It took Jayne’s fingers all of three seconds to sink into the tender flesh of his very recently dislocated shoulder and Simon’s cry of pain morphed in a string of curses so adamant that both jumped back in surprise. Simon surprised himself. Might have said something about his mother, in there somewhere. Zoe grimaced and made to reach for him again and Simon snapped, waspish in his drugged haze. “No! ...No...for god’s sake just...no.”

“Okay…” Jayne drawled, waiting expectantly. 

Fuck, but his tongue felt like cotton. “Just...Right shoulder, left hip, right thigh. Touch me anywhere else and I will kill you in your sleep.” 

Zoe’s grin made him wish he had the strength to kick her. The second attempt went much smoother, his face twisted tight in a snarl as the various aches stretched, but he was soon flat on his back. Mal entered still pulling one of the t-shirts from the rucksack over his head, throwing Jayne a glance. “All that language really necessary?”

“Nope.” Jayne grinned. “He’s tetchy when he’s hurt. S’alright though, thanks for sticking up for me.”

Mal snorted a laugh when he realized he'd mistaken the speaker, fingers grazing Simon’s good arm as they shuffled past him to the hovercraft. “Hey, when he’s settled, wanna help me get the old man in the furnace?”

“Serious?” Jayne and Zoe carefully maneuvered him onto the backseat just as Thomas rounded the corner of the building. 

“Yes.” He answered shortly, climbing into the driver’s seat of the craft without a backwards glance. “Gas is back on, just hit the red ignition button until it catches and close the door on him. The program’ll do the rest.” 

Zoe wedged herself carefully between the two seats, bracing Simon’s hip with her knee to keep him from jostling too much on the trip back. Simon fell asleep with her hand steady on his chest.

He awoke to the stretcher rocking and then a cool, dark shadow covered the sun. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the ceiling of the shuttle and he thought he could cry in happiness. Jayne kicked something into position and they settled him gently onto what felt like a mattress. Mal lingered in the door speaking lowly with the young veterinarian and Simon could only imagine how that conversation was going. Could only imagine the mess he was about to inherit. 

To his surprise though, Mal clapped him on the shoulder before striding into the shuttle and handing a duffel off to Jayne. The radio crackled over his head, and Simon craned his neck, holding his breath. 

“Wash to shuttle, Wash to Zoe, Wash to beloved wife and better half, Wash to anybody not-my-wife, shuttle shuttle shuttle….”

Simon had to grin. Wash sounded exhausted, he could just picture him lying halfway on the console amongst his dinosaurs, hailing endlessly from the second the Alliance Cruiser was out of range. It took Zoe two or three tries to catch the pause where he bothered to release the button. “Wash, shut up. I’m here.” 

“Oh thank god.” There was a crash, and Zoe winced, pursing her lips despite the grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but we’ve got...news.” 

There was pause, and then the channel opened up, the ambient sounds of the cockpit filtering through. “I’ve put you on comm, go ahead.” 

“Everyone’s alive.” Zoe started, and there was an audible sigh of relief before several of the crew members started talking over each other. Wash shushed them. “Is River there?”

“What happened to Simon?”

Mal and Simon exchanged a look, but the doctor merely shrugged.

Jayne chimed in, “Got his ass thrown off a gorram mountain. Pretty banged up.” 

Simon found himself nodding, because yes, that was...an accurate depiction of events. Zoe rolled her eyes and pressed the radio button before anyone could jump on that information. “River, sweetie, you’re his blood type, right?”

“He needs blood?” She sounded small. Before Simon could manage enough air to reassure her, Mal shifted a half step closer to the console and took the radio from Zoe. 

“He’s alright mei-mei, but yes, he’s gonna need a little help to get going again.” 

“Can I talk to him?”

“We’re coming home, we’ll be there soon as we can.” Mal glanced at him again and continued. “There’s a busted rib or two involved or I’d put him on. We got him laid up on a stolen mattress and he’s doped all to hell and back, though, don’t worry.” 

“River?” Zoe leaned forward and Mal dropped the radio for her to speak into. “You wait until I get there, I can set you up for a transfusion.” 

“...I’d rather administer the intravenous cannulation myself.” Simon swore he heard Wash snicker in the background. 

Mal smirked in amusement, pulling the radio back with a voice full of laughter, “Yeah, spare yourself some bruises. Make sure you eat first. We’re on our way.” 

XXXX

The next few days were a blur. He woke every morning grateful for the hard table under his wounds, for Zoe’s efficient administration of medicine, and the deep hum of Serenity’s engines putting space between him and Marigny. If he had his way, he’d never lay eyes on that godforsaken rock again. The next morning, he insisted on throwing everyone out of the room except Zoe and Mal, both gloved with scalpels and forceps in hand as they debrided his puncture wound of dead skin and flushed out the remaining traces of tree bark and splinters. It had taken four hours before Simon was satisfied he wasn’t looking at a limp and Zoe stitched the hole closed while the doctor excused himself to another anaesthetic coma.

River took up semi-permanent residence at his bedside during her waking hours, squeezing a gel pack and staring accusingly at the catheter running into her forearm as though she could will herself to bleed faster. Simon made a point to stay awake to make sure she didn’t overextend herself with the donations, and to spare her the glimpses into his nightmares that he hadn’t quite learned to contain. Between the drugs and the ache of things healing, he was having a hard time keeping things shielded from her. The second time he nearly startled himself off the exam table at three in the morning, she’s stalked out from her room with the firm declaration that he was never going camping again. Ever. 

Simon tended to agree. 

More nights than not, he woke with the heavy weight of Mal’s head on his stomach and hip. He would slip his arm under Simon’s good knee and curl his hand around the opposite thigh, framing the gauze over the puncture wound with his thumb and fingers. It was more comfortable than Simon cared to admit, and afforded him the chance to thread his fingers into the older man’s thick hair. Almost a week in, Mal’s burns were dry and settled, well past the risk of infection and if they scarred, the captain swore he wouldn’t mind. Simon still tsked everytime they switched his bandages out. 

His ribs were the worst of it. His right side was a solid mass of black bruised tissue. Deep black, not purple or blue and without the faintest trace of fading at the edges. It was puffy, and hideous, and still sent him spiralling into agitation when he moved wrong, or if someone touched him without warning. Simon hadn’t underestimated the damage but he found himself explaining a few times over that there was nothing to be done for the healing process. Keeping a close watch was about the best he could do. The breaks seemed to be clean enough, there was no collapse and when it did actually take a turn for the worst, he happened to be awake and mid-sentence to catch it in time. 

There were two or three people present in the infirmary to keep him company away any given time. Simon watched their faces for any trace of aggravation that they’d lost the payment, and largely because of him, but no one brought it up. No one even seemed put out by it. It made him feel worse. He took the weight of that guilt and pushed it into every one of his wounds, hoping they were penance enough.

“You didn’t even see me, did you?” Jayne asked, tipping his flask back as he waited for an answer.

“Hm?” 

The mercenary grinned at him, gesturing towards his chest. “I was there when you fell. Close enough to hear the bone snap when you landed.” 

Simon blinked away dizziness at the memory, shifting uncomfortably on the table. “Didn’t occur to you to catch me?”

“Nah, I didn’t have time. I was trying to get a read on the posse, creeping along the outcropping under Camden’s feet. I thought I’d been spotted when he whistled, didn’t even see the  _ hundan  _ at the bottom of the ravine ‘til then, and next thing I know?” He mimicked a swan dive with his hand, whistling high-to-low like a missile falling. “Highly entertaining to watch, must say.”

Simon shot him a dirty look, then frowned, The dizziness was not going away, if anything it was getting worse. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, raising a hand. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” Mal straightened from his place on the cabinetry, studying his face.

Jayne was oblivious, well on his way to drunk. “Ruined my favorite t-shirt, too, damn thing looks like it got put through a grater.”

“Jayne. Shut up.” Simon forced, timing his air flow. Something was wrong. Getting worse, by the minute. He shook his head trying to clear it and pointed at the drawer. “Mal, get me a cannula, quickly.” 

Mal pulled open the drawer and rummaged, and if Simon had to guess, he only knew what the item was from doing inventory together, though that felt like another lifetime. He held it up and Simon nodded, waving him over insistently. The captain opened the package and hovered until he realized that Simon was trying to pull his shirt up with his injured hand and winced at the sight of his marred skin. “What are we doing?”

Simon was out of breath, thumbing the cap off of the thick needle and the catheter fitting on the other end. He counted to five and braced himself before stabbing directly between his ribs. 

Mal flinched back, horrified and then rushed in, pulling his hands away, “What the hell is--”

A faint hiss sounded under his words and Simon held his breath counting the seconds it took for the pressure in his chest to leak through the tiny opening. Mal was transfixed, and Jayne was staring as though Simon had finally snapped, lost his mind outright. 

“...pneumothorax. Air...outside the lungs.” Simon hissed, leaning back on the table. “Watch it...if blood or... pus comes next, I’m in trouble.” 

“...You’re telling me there’s a hole in your lung that doesn’t count as trouble?” Mal queried, feeling his forehead. “Do you understand how that comes across alarming?”

“Oh, I’m plenty alarmed.” Simon grinned breathlessly. “If I’d been under when that happened, I’d have probably died before anyone realized something was wrong.” 

“Sure, put me right at ease, thanks doc.” Mal’s face sharpened. “There’s blood here.”

“How much?”

“Couple of drops. Slow.” 

Simon relaxed, brushing a hand over his face. “That’s good then...that’s normal. Put the catheter cap back on, I’ll likely need to do this every few hours.” 

“...Then you’re getting caffeine next.” Mal’s tone brooked no argument and he turned back to the cabinet again to find the right bottle. “How’s the rest?”

“Manageable. I shouldn’t need anything for a few more hours.” 

“We’ll go on shifts to keep an eye on you.” Mal muttered distractedly, turning back with a clean syringe and the bottle. He handed them off to Simon with a stoic expression. “I wish I’d made him suffer more.”

“No.” Simon shook his head with a commiserating glance. “It ended the way it should have.”

He glanced at Jayne and back, swallowing his nerves. “I’m sorry about the job.”

The captain’s brow knit in confusion and then a grin broke over his face. “Job ain’t over.” 

“We’re not going back.” Simon stated more than asked, paling at the thought and Jayne laughed. Simon had expected sarcasm, irritation, even outright violence from the mercenary over the dunken chuckle he was faced with instead. 

Mal shook his head, confirming. “No, we’re not. But we got paid.” 

“How?” Simon felt the low thrill of hope in his stomach and quashed it, refusing to believe until he’d heard it with it his own ears. 

“Thomas.” Mal said warmly, and if Jayne noticed the way his hand fell on the uninjured side of Simon’s heart, he didn’t remark on it. “Found himself with sudden, unrestricted access to Camden’s accounts. Offered to pay out the bounty for our trouble and the work we’d done before it went south.” 

“Shame he could only pay half though.” Jayne quipped, wagging his eyebrows at the captain and Simon was lost, turning back to Mal.

“Half is a shame.” 

“Yeah.” Mal smirked. “Good thing I told him Badger promised an even 15.”

“Fifteen.” Simon blinked, then bolted upright as much as he could, resisting when Mal laughed and tried to keep him flat. “You told him  _ fifteen million  _ credits--”

“And got seven hundred and fifty.” Mal half-shrugged, pleased with himself. “I figure the 150 over Badger’s offer was worth the damages incurred.”

Simon could not process it. He stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded. “There’s Kaylee’s engine.” 

“Mhm.”

“...What happened to Badger?”

Mal’s smile faltered a little, but he remained nonchalant. “Haven’t heard from him. Thought it’d be best to keep a low profile for a while, I’d imagine he’s done the same. Money’s already been deposited, stashed a good chunk of it with Mr. Universe for emergencies.”

Simon heard the evasion for what it was, but decided not to press. “And Shi Lang.” 

Mal exhaled through pursed lips, but Jayne interrupted him. “Yeah, got some news on that front too. Read along the lines of “Fugitive apprehended from Marigny slave holding commits murder-suicide during transport, four officers dead at the scene.” 

“But...wait, no. There wouldn’t have been a headline. The Alliance would never--”

“I was gonna...wait, until you were up and about to mention it.” Mal quieted him gently, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shi Lang left you an Alliance issue comm device. Hid it in the backpack at some point in the woods. Found it with a note.”

“A suicide note?”

“...Good as, I guess, in light of things. Just reads ‘Good luck, stay safe. Don’t use it twice on the same satellite range.’, and login credentials.”

“He’s dead, though.” Simon shook his head. 

Mal gave him a flat smile. “His  _ father’s  _ log in credentials.” 

“ _ Tiān nǎ _ .” Holy shit. Simon was dizzy again, but this time it had nothing to do with his various maladies. “I’m a millionaire fugitive with an inside line to an Admiral’s communications.” 

“Would seem so.” Mal’s fingers combed through his hair again, and this time Jayne did not quite roll his eyes, pointedly looking away at the display of affection. “In two weeks, Thomas is going to call the feds on his own plantation about the metal poisoning, too.” 

“Stop.” Simon pushed his face weakly, dumbfounded. “I don’t...I’m not used to good news. What’s the catch? Where’s the proverbial other shoe?”

“Ehh…” Mal smiled, and Simon found himself wanting to kiss him so very badly that it hurt. Hurt in the best way. “Jayne’s still on the crew.” 

“Gorram it, ya’ll stop getting all moony in fronta me?” Jayne snapped, standing unsteadily. He tipped his flask back and handed it off to Simon, still half full. “It’s weird.”

“You go on upstairs then, I’ve got business here.” Mal said without missing a beat. 

Simon tipped the flask back, and after a month of nothing else, he could finally appreciate the sweet burned sugar flavor of whiskey on the first sip. 

And when Mal kissed him afterwards, Mal tasted like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that's curtains. On this story, at least. I'm considering turning The Good Doctor into a series, what do you guys think?
> 
> Thanks for sticking around this long, I hope you enjoyed it. I'm on tumblr and pillowfort as Mikanis as well, feel free to reach and out chat.
> 
> First story to break a five year block hit 100k? Shiny. I enjoyed it. Step lightly, all.


End file.
